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BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR. 


I.  THE  PSIZOSOPSY  OF  EWGZ^ISH 

JLITEnATUMJE.  Zecfures  deliv- 
ered before  the  JLoicell  Institute, 
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OGY.    12nio.,  cloth,   $1.75. 

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III.  SCIENCE,  PHIIOSOFSY,  A.Nn 

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G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons,  Publishers,  New  York. 


COMPARATIVE  PSYCHOLOGY 


OR, 


THE  GROWTH  AND  GRADES  OF 
INTELLIGENCE. 


JOHN    BASCOM, 

Author  of  Phil0sophy  of  Religion^  Principles  of  Psychology ^  Philosophy 
of  English  Literature,  etc. 


L  1   Vy  II  A    u   V 
UNIVKIIS  IT^'    OF 

('All  V{ ){?  vr  A 


NEW    YORK: 
G.     P.     PUTNAM'S     SONS, 

182    Fifth    Ave. 
1878. 


33 


Ubrary 


BRARr 


Copyright, 
1878, 
By  G.  p.  PuTNAft^s  Sons. 
^302  tT 


PREFACE. 


The  advocates  of  the  Empirical  Philosophy  are 
wont  to  criticise  the  Intuitional  Philosophy  in  two 
respects  ;  first,  as  overlooking  the  relation  between 
the  mature  mind  and  the  mind  of  the  infant,  be- 
tween rudimentary  and  developed  powers  ;  and, 
second,  as  overlooking  the  still  more  important 
connection  between  the  intelligence  of  to-day  and 
that  of  remote  previous  periods,  between  the  in- 
telligence of  man  and  that  of  animals,  and  of  the 
earlier  human  life  from  which  it  has  been  derived. 
We  grant  these  points  to  be  well  taken,  especially 
the  latter.  Without  tracing  the  history  of  intelli- 
gence, we  are  not  prepared  to  decide  what  is  prim- 
itive and  what  is  acquired,  what  is  original  material 
and  what  is  the  deposit  of  growth.  The  empiricist 
cannot  be  fully  and  fairly  met  without  traveling 
with  him  these  spaces  of  evolution,  and  determin- 
ing at  least  their  general  facts  and  laws.  This  I 
have  undertaken  in  the  present  volume.  It  is  my 
purpose  to  test  the  nature  and  extent  of  the  modi- 
fications put  upon  human  psychology  by  its  rela- 


IV  PREFACE. 

tions  in  growth  to  the  Hfe  below  it,  and  in  doing 
this  to  reach  a  general  statement  of  each  stage  of 
development. 

Many  results  of  such  an  inquiry  must  be  par- 
tial, and  many  conjectural ;  and  still  they  are  suf- 
ficient, it  seems  to  me,  to  enable  us  to  decide  with 
some  certainty  on  the  general  value  of  the  accepted 
doctrines  of  the  Intuitional  Philosophy.  At  all 
events,  the  chosen  ground  on  which  the  Empirical 
Philosophy  has  set  the  battle  in  order  is  accepted, 
and  the  conflict  joined.  Notwithstanding  the  belli- 
cose image,  I  trust  the  inquiry  has  been  ordered 
in  an  open-handed  way,  and  that  due  consideration 
has  been  given  to  all  opposing  facts.  I  have  de- 
rived great  benefit  from  many  forms  of  Empirical 
Philosophy  ;  these  I  cheerfully  acknowledge,  while 
I  must  remain  its  unflinching  adversary.  The 
Intuitional  Philosophy  can  and  should  appropriate 
these  excellent  fruits,  and  this  volume  is  the  result 
of  such  an  effort.  Its  subject,  the  Growth  and 
Grades  of  Intelligence,  would  hardly  have  been 
suggested  but  for  the  Empirical  Philosophy,  nor 
could  the  discussion  have  been  carried  on  without 
it.  We  gladly  accept  the  many  truths  which  this 
philosophy  furnishes,  but  we  build  them  into  an 
edifice  very  different  from  that  for  which  they 
were  quarried. 


CONTENTS. 


Introduction i 

CHAPTER  I. 
Mind  and  Matter 9 

CHAPTER  II. 
Physical  Forces  as  Related  to  Vital  Forces 36 

CHAPTER  III. 
Vegetable  Life 62 

CHAPTER  IV. 
The  Nervous  System 89 

CHAPTER  V. 
Animal  Life  as  Organic 118 

CHAPTER  VI. 
Animal  Life  as  Instinctive 147 

CHAPTER  VIL 
Animal  Life  as  Associative 17S 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
Rational  Life 227 

CHAPTER  IX. 
The  Supreme  Reason 265 


1.  I  I!  li  A  I.'  V 

I  U  X  J  \'  K  I!  S  I  T  \   < » f 

1^  CALIFOI.WIA.  J 
INTRODUCTION. 


Metaphysics,  by  which  we  understand  an  in- 
quiry into  mental  facts  as  something  after  and  be- 
yond physical  facts,  has  suffered  in  our  time  greater 
disparagement  than  any  other  branch  of  knowl- 
edge. Contempt  has  been  joined  to  aversion, 
and  the  two  have  found  expression  much  at  ran- 
dom. If  any  discussion  becomes  peculiarly  verbal, 
or  any  inquiry  particularly  subtile,  it  is  at  once 
spoken  of  as  metaphysical.  Yet  no  researches 
are  more  legitimate,  none  more  unavoidable,  none 
more  fruitful  than  those  of  metaphysics  or  philos- 
ophy. Metaphysics  can  only  be  attacked  with  ar- 
rows taken  from  its  own  quiver,  and  their  flint- 
heads  are  one  truth  or  another  whose  grounds  of 
assertion  are  to  be  found  in  the  laws  of  the  mind. 
The  sweep  of  these  discussions  is  as  broad  as  re- 
ligious and  social  activity,  and  their  value  will  re- 
main pre-eminent,  unless  we  are  to  reach  a  day  in 
which  the  raiment  shall  be  more  than  the  body  it 
clothes,  and  meat  more  than  the  Hfe  it  feeds. 

This  dissatisfaction,  however,  with  metaphysics 
has  its  advantages.  It  has  led  to  a  careful  sifting 
of   its  methods  of    inquiry,  and    to   an    effort    to 


2  INTRODUCTION. 

supplement  them  by  physical  researches.  This 
effort  has  gone  in  fact  much  farther,  and  has  aimed 
to  displace  mental  by  physical  facts,  and  to  substi- 
tute investigations  in  matter  for  those  in  mind. 
Yet  the  ephah  of  barley  it  brings  home  from  its  ex- 
tended gleanings  is  after  all  the  clear  recognition 
of  certain  physical  inquiries  as  valuable  adjuncts 
to  those  of  philosophy. 

The  two  directions  in  which  this  fact  is  more 
manifest  are,  first;  the  construction  and  functions  of 
the  human  brain  ;  and,  second,  the  physical  and 
psychical  steps  of  progress  in  the  animal  kingdom 
by  which  the  pre-eminence  of  man  may  be  said  to 
have  been  reached.  The  two  are  included  in  com- 
parative psychology. 

By  comparative  psychology  we  understand  a 
knowledge  of  intelligence,  of  conscious  activity,  as 
it  exists  in  all  accessible  forms  of  lives,  a  tracing 
of  its  development  in  its  several  stages  through  the 
entire  animal  kingdom.  This  is  our  present  effort, 
a  discussion  of  the  growth  and  grades  of  intelli- 
gence in  the  world  about  us.  We  need,  in  this 
inquiry,  not  only  to  understand,  as  well  as  we  may, 
each  form  of  conscious  activity,  but  its  immediate 
nervous  conditions,  the  lower  vital  and  atomic  pow- 
ers on  which  these  are  superinduced,  and  the  slow 
increments  one  upon  another,  by  which  all  is  finally 
built  up  into  the  composite  mind  of  man,  the 
crowning  spiritual  structure  of  the  world  ;  which 
some  hold  to  have  come  down  from  Heaven,  and 
some  to  have  sprung  from  the  earth,  but  which  we 
are  ready  to  believe  has,  rather,  like  every  living 


DANGERS    OF   THE   INQUIRY.  3 

thing,  been  ministered  to  by  each  seen  and  unseen 
agent,  and  taken  into  itself  the  strength  of  both 
realms. 

If  this  work  is  successfully  done,  we  shall  under- 
stand our  faculties  in  the  analysis  which  time,  which 
evolution,  has  given  them.  The  actual  growth  of 
the  mind  from  its  own  historic  germs  will  be  before 
us ;  powers  will  be  seen  in  their  dependencies,  and 
we  shall  be  able  to  correct  our  previous  analysis  by 
that  discrimination  and  separation  of  elements 
which  have  attended  on  their  constructive  introduc- 
tion. Much  may  be  done  by  such  inquiry  to  con- 
firm, modify  and  correct  our  philosophy,  though 
philosophy  is,  after  all,  its  own  necessary  antece- 
dent, the  light  in  which  its  comprehending  powers 
go  on. 

In  entering  on  this  labor  there  are  peculiar  dan- 
gers, dangers  which  arise  from  a  philosophy  too  defec- 
tive safely  to  discuss  its  own  problems  in  their  more 
remote  and  obscure  forms.  Wisdom  is  the  condi- 
tion of  wisdom,  and  this  the  more  manifestly  as  we 
traverse  regions  thinly  sown  with  supersensual 
truths.  In  tracing  the  growth  of  intelligence  we  ne- 
cessarily start  with  purely  physical  forces  ;  this  has 
been  the  order  of  evolution  and  it  must  be  of  inquiry. 
Our  first  danger,  therefore,  is,  that  we  shall  be  unwill- 
ing to  enlarge  our  principles  so  as  to  include  the 
new  facts,  we  may  meet,  without  distortion  or  muti- 
lation. The  action  of  causation  applies  strictly 
to  local,  atomic  forces  ;  here,  and  here  only,  does 
the  law  of  the  equivalence  of  forces  find  room. 
If  we  reason  from  it  as  if  it  existed  elsewhere,  with- 


4  INTRODUCTION. 

out  first  establishing  its  existence,  and  the  precise 
form  of  it,  we  are  sure  to  be  misled.  If  we  have  pre- 
determined that  our  explanations  must  express 
every  new  fact,  like  every  old  one,  in  terms  of  mat- 
ter and  motion,  we  at  once  preclude  all  increments, 
and  growth  sinks  with  us  into  a  rolling  over  of  our 
first  facts,  a  rigid  development  of  our  primary  prem- 
ises. The  problems  of  life,  of  intelligence,  of  spir- 
itual powers,  as  they  arise  in  order,  are  forced  down 
in  their  solution  under  laws  and  conceptions  made 
for  them  in  matter,  not  found  for  them  in  mind.  Our 
explanations  no  longer  explain,  for  they  so  alter  and 
reduce  the  phenomena,  put  atomic  forces  to  such 
strange  and  extravagant  service,  that  there  is  no 
known  relation  between  our  facts  and  our  theories, 
between  the  apparent  effects  and  the  causes  assigned 
them.  This  is  a  fundamental  danger.  The  mind 
does  not  rise  from  the  lower  to  the  higher  but 
merges  the  higher  in  the  lower.  It  loses  one  of  the 
two  terms  of  the  problems,  and  so  misconceives  them 
both. 

A  second  danger  is,  that  we  shall  infer  from  a 
similarity  of  external  appearances  an  equivalence 
of  internal  conscious  states,  though  the  two  sets  of 
facts  are  found  on  very  different  planes  of  life.  Thus 
on  the  ground  of  some  resemblance  of  actions  we 
enrich  the  mind  of  the  animal  with  the  thoughts 
and  affections  which  belong  to  man,  forgetful  that 
each  increment  of  intelligence  permeates  downward, 
and  modifies  all  below  it.  Lower  activities  take  place 
in  man  under  the  light  of  a  much  more  clear  and 
extended  consciousness  than  do  corresponding  states 


DANGERS    OF    THE   INQUIRY.  5 

in  the  animal,  and  are  therefore  by  no  means  iden- 
tical with  these  even  when  primarily  referable  to 
the  same  faculties.  Each  being  is  organically  har- 
monious, is  complete  within  itself.  The  increments 
which  belong  to  it,  as  compared  with  one  lower,  are 
not  detached,  a  certain  something  on  the  surface  of 
its  being ;  but  are  interwoven  in  mutual  modifica- 
tions with  all  its  other  powers.  The  higher  gifts 
especially  must  be  allowed  their  freedom  in  acting 
on  and  modifying  the  lower  ones.  This  fact  cuts 
us  off  from  the  easy  inference,  that  certain  facul- 
ties always  carry  with  them  like,  or  proximately 
like,  states  of  consciousness,  since  the  associated 
conditions  of  their  exercise  may  greatly  alter  the  re- 
sults. As  we  pass  up  in  intelligence  we  are  espe- 
cially to  recollect  that  what  has  been  given  us  at  pre- 
vious stages  is  now  shaped  by  the  pressure  of  quite 
different  powers,  debarring  us  from  the  conclusion 
that  present  states  of  consciousness  correspond 
with  any  exactness  to  former  ones.  Precisely  the 
opposite  inference  is  in  order,  and  each  form  of  life 
must  be  admitted  to  the  thoughts  in  its  own  new- 
ness and  organic  completeness. 

A  farther  danger  is,  that  we  shall  not  enter 
on  our  inquiry  in  full  possession  of  all  that  be- 
longs to  us,  all  that  is  necessary  to  make  it  suc- 
cessful. Idealists  have  created  a  great  deal  of 
worthless  metaphysics  by  saying  to  themselves, — 
What  is  that  one  most  certain  thing  from  which 
we  can  start  in  establishing  all  other  things  ? 
What  is  the  single  simple  idea  from  which  every 
other  idea  can  be  derived  ?      Such  inquiries  are 


6  INTRODUCTION. 

sure  to  result  in  the  thinnest  filaments  of  thought, 
the  lightest  web  of  speculation  floating  high  above 
the  facts  to  which  it  has  at  most  a  single  point  of 
attachment.  It  is  lost  to  the  eye  in  all  ordinary 
light,  and  only  comes  forth  when  some  peculiarly 
favoring  ray  falls  upon  it. 

Why  should  I  take  the  notion  of  being  as  pri- 
mary, and  see  what  can  be  derived  from  it,  when  I 
have  other  notions  and  other  impressions  equally 
independent,  equally  primary,  equally  construc- 
tive ^  Such  a  method  removes  its  conclusions  at 
every  step  more  and  more  from  the  facts,  when 
the  only  value  of  any  method  lies  in  the  corres- 
pondence of  facts  and  conclusions. 

The  materialist  in  his  own  way  does  the  same 
thing  when  he  takes  a  physical  relation,  enlarges 
it  in  statement,  and  spreads  its  terms  over  phe- 
nomena intrinsically  opposed  to  it.  He  too  falls 
into  word-building.  He  too  is  unwilling  to  take 
starting-points  in  their  integrity. 

Our  inquiries  should  rather  be.  What  and  how 
much  can  I  rightfully,  qualifiedly  assume  .?  How 
much  is  contained  in  the  phenomena }  How  much 
do  my  combined  faculties  give  me  ?  All  our  fac- 
ulties stand  on  the  same  footing  of  authority, 
and  it  is  irrational  to  take  their  data  in  part,  and 
reject  them  in  part.  And,  as  intuitive  faculties 
necessarily  give  phenomena  distinct  and  primi- 
tive in  character,  it  follows  at  once  that  no  logical 
process  will  deduce  the  facts  of  one  set  of  facul- 
ties successfully  from  those  of  another.  We  can 
not  reason   from  sight  to  sound,  from   touch   to 


METHODS    OF   THE   INQUIRY.  / 

taste,  from  experience  to  rational  intuition.  What 
is  primitive  we  must  accept  in  a  primitive  way,  or 
miss  it  altogether.  Nothing  is  plainer  than  this  ; 
if  we  have  a  right  to  the  use  of  one  limb  we  have 
a  right  to  the  use  of  both ;  if  I  am  wise  in  using 
one  I  am  still  wiser  in  using  both.  The  metaphy- 
sician, when  he  insists  on  selecting  one  truth  as 
self-evident  and  seeing  what  can  be  done  under 
these  narrow  conditions,  is  no  more  a  master  in  his 
art  than  the  poet  who  measured  his  abilities  by  see- 
ing the  number  of  lines  he  could  write  standing  on 
one  foot. 

When  the  scientist  inquires  into  material  facts, 
he  adopts  our  method.  He  assumes  the  action  of 
the  senses,  the  intuitive  and  reflective  powers  in- 
volved, and  then  proceeds  with  his  investigation. 
We  should  do  the  same  in  psychology.  We  should 
accept  our  mental  faculties  completely  for  what 
they  ostensibly  are,  and  then  push  forward  our  re- 
searches. If  our  labors  issue  in  a  new  analysis,  a 
new  reference  of  powers,  very  well ;  but  we  have 
no  right  by  anticipation  to  disparage  any  power,  or 
to  insist  on  its  secondary  and  derived  character 
till  this  has  been  shown.  A  tacit  or  avowed  phi- 
losophy accompanies  our  inquiries  into  philosophy, 
and  this,  our  antecedent  conviction,  must  be  meas- 
urably complete  and  honest,  or  we  shall  be  hope- 
lessly misled  by  it.  We  cannot,  in  the  outset, 
cripple  our  powers  without  thereby,  in  the  end, 
marring  our  results.  It  is  sound  sense  in  all  in- 
quiries to  hold  fast  what  we  have,  or  seem  to  have, 
till  its  value  is  fully  tested ;  to  carry  with  us  to  our 


8  INTRODUCTION. 

work  our  best  resources,  and  not  to  maim  our 
movement  by  a  skepticism  so  complete  as  to  take 
away  the  very  conditions  of  success.  The  physi- 
cist must,  therefore,  starting  in  the  physical  world 
for  a  long  journey  upward  along  the  lines  of  evolu- 
tion to  the  realms  of  mind,  assume  the  existence 
of  those  faculties  which  he  will  need  in  every  step 
of  the  route,  and  which  can  be  to  him  his  only 
guide  either  as  to  the  direction  or  method  of  re- 
search. He  who  proposes  to  fight  a  loyal  fight  by 
stripping  off  his  armor,  will  do  no  better  than  he 
who  makes  ready  for  battle  by  riveting  it  all  on. 
Wisdom,  not  hair-brained  heroism,  not  arrant  cow- 
ardice, is  our  need.  We  are  to  hold  firmly,  and, 
on  occasion,  yield  easily,  what  we  have ;  equally 
careful  in  retention  and  in  concession  to  let  no  ad- 
vantage slip.  A  certain  faith  that  can  advance 
without  hesitation  and  retreat  without  fear,  in 
steady  pursuit  of  the  main  purpose,  is  no  less  the 
condition  of  philosophy  and  of  science,  than  of  war. 


CHAPTER   I. 

MIND   AND    MATTER. 

As  intelligence  is  seen  in  its  primary  manifes- 
tations, and  still  more  in  its  antecedent  conditions, 
to  penetrate,  in  comparative  psychology,  far  down 
among  material  forces,  and,  by  the  mediation  of  an 
automatic  life,  to  be  extensively  interlaced  with 
them,  it  is  very  desirable  in  opening  our  discussion 
to  define  the  relations  of  mind  and  matter  to  each 
other.  If  we  hold  firmly  apart  these  two  centres 
of  all  our  knowledge,  we  shall  handle  in  analysis 
the  more  safely  and  intelligibly  intervening  phe- 
nomena. We  shall  not  float  from  position  to  posi- 
tion with  no  sufficient  recognition  of  the  spaces 
passed  over.  This,  then,  is  our  first  topic,  the  re- 
lation of  mind  and  matter. 

There  is  no  division  more  incorporate  into  the 
experience  of  the  entire  race  of  man  than  that 
between  mind  and  matter,  thought  and  the  exter- 
nal objects  with  which  thought  deals,  arranging 
activity  and  a  relatively  inert  material,  subject  to 
it.  So  true  is  this  that  to  most  persons  any  denial 
of  this  distinction  as  complete  and  radical  is  at- 
tended at  once  by  that  dimness  of  vision  and 
obscurity  of  thought  incident  to  dizziness  and  a 
sudden  tremor  running  through  all  the  lines  of 
order.     The  few  speculative  minds  who  do  obliter- 


10  MIND    AND    MATTER. 

ate  these  fundamental  divisions  to  which  the  com- 
mon intelligence  has  all  along  conformed  its  work, 
reach  results  so  erratic,  and  so  divergent  one  from 
another,  as  to  carry  little  belief,  and  to  evoke  hope- 
less conflict.  We  must  repose  a  certain  faith  in 
the  mind's  primitive,  spontaneous,  constructive  ac- 
tion, in  its  historic  flow,  as  it  plows  its  deep  bed 
along  the  decline  of  centuries,  like  great  rivers 
pressing  seaward,  or  we  shall  lose  all  confidence  in 
its  more  brilliant,  spasmodic  efforts.  Our  philoso- 
phy must  gather  up  the  little  with  the  large,  the 
ordinary  with  the  extraordinary,  the  sluggish  flow 
onward  and  the  sudden  leap  forward,  the  past  with 
the  present,  or  the  sense  of  security  and  truthful- 
ness, of  real  forces  registering  real  results  every-  - 
where,  of  an  innate  steadiness  and  growth  of  mind 
which  push  it  toward  the  light,  will  be  lost.  We 
must  pay  at  least  this  respect  to  the  masses,  to 
remember  that  they  furnish  the  facts  which  our 
philosophy  is  to  explain. 

We  may  inquire  into  the  separate  conditions  of 
matter  and  mind,  and  the  grounds  of  our  belief  in 
them,  but  to  raise  the  questions.  Whether  at  bot- 
tom the  facts  of  mind  are  not  those  of  matter?  or 
those  of  matter  those  of  mind  ?  is  to  so  subvert 
intelligence  in  its  primitive  data  as  to  force  upon  us 
the  painful  conviction,  we  now  know  nothing,  and  it 
is  only  too  probable,  therefore,  that  we  shall  never 
know  any  thing.  If  all  thought  and  experience 
hitherto  have  crystallized  along  the  dividing  line 
between  mind  and  matter,  have  clustered  about  it 
the  fruits  of  knowledge,  till  it  has  become  like  a 


FAITH    IN    THE    MIND  S   POWERS.  1 1 

rich  vein  stored  with  precious  stones,  and  yet  this 
line  is  now  found  quite  fictitious,  the  insufficiency 
and  insanity  of  our  mental  processes  become  so 
conspicuous  as  to  take  away  all  pleasure  in  farther 
effort.  We  must  know,  we  must  have  known, 
something,  and  this  too  correctly,  in  order  to 
make  it  worth  while  to  inquire  about  any  thing. 
That  something  is,  for  us  at  least,  this  first,  funda- 
mental division  which  pervades  our  rational  life, 
that  between  mind  and  matter. 

Mind  is  non  compos  if  not  correct  in  its  initial 
action  ;  and  what  wisdom  we  have  left  should 
teach  us,  that  the  visions  of  lunatics  are  not  worth 
pursuing.  The  mind  must  be  lifted  to  its  feet; 
must  be  able,  in  possession  of  itself,  to  survey  the 
material  world  about  it,  before  the  gyrations  of 
images  can  be  orderly  enough  to  remove  dizziness 
from  the  brain  itself. 

The  mind  proceeds  in  all  its  acts  of  compre- 
hension on  certain  fundamental  antitheses,  in 
which  two  things  are  held  together,  and  made 
mutually  to  expound  each  other.  The  simplest 
product  of  thought,  a  judgment,  is  of  this  nature  ; 
and  the  subject  and  the  predicate  support  the 
proposition  by  a  mutual  explanation  the  one  of  the 
other.  This  antithesis,  variable  in  form  according 
to  its  uses,  is  that  expressed  in  common  language 
by  the  words,  substance  and  qualities,  agent  and 
acts ;  in  science,  by  the  words,  cause  and  effect, 
force  and  phenomena  ;  in  living  things,  by  life  and 
functions  ;  in  psychology,  by  mind  and  faculties, 
noumena  and  phenomena  ;  in  religion,  by  spirit  and 


12  MIND   AND    MATTER. 

affections  ;  in  rhetoric,  by  thought  and  expression  ; 
in  art,  by  substance  and  form  ;  in  the  Universe  at 
large,  by  plan  and  fulfilment,  mind  and  matter,  the 
thing  shaping  and  the  thing  shaped,  the  free  and 
the  fixed.  The  fundamental  contrast,  in  these  op- 
posites,  that  into  which  they  chiefly  fall  in  ultimate 
analysis,  is  that  between  mind  and  matter,  the  ac- 
tive and  passive  aspects  of  the  constructive  pro- 
cess. This  antithetic  structure  and  consideration 
of  each  topic  are  as  essential  to  the  progress  of  our 
thoughts  as  two  limbs  to  the  movement  of  our  bod- 
ies. We  swing  from  one  to  the  other  and  so  press 
forward.  To  leap  on  one  leg  is  a  difficult  and  des- 
perate effort  of  which  we  soon  tire  ;  for  the  mind 
to  attempt  to  handle  one  of  these  antithetic  ele- 
ments without  the  other  is  equally  spasmodic  and 
futile  exertion.  Reluctant  as  the  Cosmic  Philoso- 
phy, with  its  empirical  tendencies,  is  to  admit 
these  fundamental  distinctions  of  thought,  and  as- 
sign them  their  true  position,  it  is  compelled,  in 
opposition  to  Positive  Philosophy,  to  make  this 
concession.  "  Not  a  step  can  be  taken  towards 
the  truth,  that  our  states  of  consciousness  are  the 
only  things  we  can  know,  without  tacitly  or  avow- 
edly postulating  an  unknown  something  beyond 
consciousness.  The  proposition,  that  whatever  we 
feel  has  an  existence  which  is  relative  to  ourselves 
only  cannot  be  proved,  nay,  cannot  even  be  intelli- 
gibly expressed  without  asserting,  directly  or  by 
implication,  an  external  existence  which  is  not 
relative  to  ourselves."  * 

*  Cosmic  Philosophy,  vol.  i.,  p.  84. 


FUNDAMENTAL    ANTITHESIS.  1 3 

This  antithesis  is  fundamental  in  our  constitu- 
tion. It  arises  from  what  our  senses  and  our  in- 
tuitions respectively  supply  us  ;  while  all  thinking 
is  the  union  of  the  two  elements.  If  our  avenues 
of  knowledge  were  those  of  the  senses  simply, 
there  would  be  present  phenomena  only,  and  these 
would  flow  on  with  no  provocation  of  thought,  no 
contrasts,  no  comparisons.  But  our  intuitions 
bring  to  these  the  noumena,  and  instantly  there 
spring  up  all  the  relations  and  dependencies  of 
real  being.  The  grounds  of  this  double  movement 
of  thought  are  found  in  the  divided  physical  and 
spiritual  structure  of  man,  in  his  perceptive  and 
intuitive  powers.  It  cannot,  therefore,  be  escaped, 
or  for  a  moment  be  deemed  unsound. 

The  external  and  the  internal  worlds,  matter 
and  mind,  are  with  us  an  ever-recognized  distinc- 
tion, lying  at  the  very  basis  of  all  inquiry  and  all 
thought.  We  shall  not  for  a  moment  efface  a  di- 
vision which  is  the  first  line  the  mind  draws  in  the 
construction  of  its  chart  of  knowledge,  a  division 
so  essential  that,  if  we  remove  it,  we  must  begin 
at  once  furtively  to  restore  it,  or  all  our  distinc- 
tions, our  comprehensive  processes,  flow  together 
and  are  lost  in  unintelligible  homogeneity. 

The  full  recognition  of  mind  in  contrast  with 
matter  involves,  under  human  experience,  two 
things :  first,  that  mental  processes  are  conscious 
processes,  and  these  only  ;  second,  that  such  pro- 
cesses beyond  our  own  consciousness  are  adequately 
indicated  to  us  by  order,  by  the  adaptation  of  means 
to  ends.     If  thought  is  not  thought,  a  conscious  act ; 


14  MIND   AND   MATTER. 

if  the  mind  in  its  own  activities  is  not  always  open 
to  itself  in  its  own  light,  then  the  analogies  taken 
from  our  own  experience  are  gone,  and  we  know 
not  what  thought  is,  and  may  as  well  cease  to  dis- 
cuss its  nature.  If  arrangement  and  adjustment  do 
not  immediately  or  mediately  express  thought,  are 
not,  as  opposed  to  un-adjustment,  the  products  of 
mind,  then  again  we  have  lost  a  first  clue  to  knowl- 
edge as  given  by  our  own  experience.  White  and 
black,  sweet  and  sour,  hot  and  cold,  are  no  better  dis- 
tinctions than  are  these,  order  and  disorder,  plan 
and  material,  mind  and  matter,  and  no  more  pervade 
our  practical  activity. 

There  are  two  inquiries  which  we  must  make 
in  all  investigations,  the  means  employed  and  the 
overruling  idea.  Without  both,  order,  progress 
can  not  be  explained.  That  certain  something  by 
which  order  is  superior  to  disorder,  and  by  which 
it  is  induced,  is  the  gist  of  all  knowledge.  It  is 
the  product  of  the  mind,  and  the  sole  delight  of 
the  mind.  We  accept  these  first  truths,  and  so 
proceed  to  second  truths.  Our  first  truths  in 
mind  are,  then,  that  mind  is  a  spiritual  power,  that 
its  phenomena  are  conscious  states,  that  the  exter- 
nal proof  of  these  states  are  order,  arrangement, 
coherent  action. 

When  we  turn  to  matter,  the  case  is  still  sim- 
pler. We  accept  only  forces — efficiencies — and  phe- 
nomena; these  phenomena  themselves  being  ef- 
fects in  mind  and  relative  to  it.  We  must  have 
mind  and  matter  both,  before  we  can  have  physical 
phenomena,  since  phenomena  are   nothing  more 


CONTRAST   BETWEEN   MIND   AND   MATTER.        1 5 

nor  less  than  the  action  of  one  on  the  other.     We 
have  causes  and  effects,  forces  and  phenomena. 

The  mind  can  not  be  the  forces,  for  these  are 
only  known  to  it  by  an  inference  which  evokes 
them  as  agents  independent  of  and  antagonistic  to 
itself.  It  can  no  more  be  the  phenomena,  for 
these  have  no  existence  save  as  we  presuppose  a 
mind  to  which  they  are  addressed  through  the 
senses.  The  phenomena  of  matter  are  phenomena 
in  and  to  mind  alone,  and  thus  presuppose  mind. 
Any  state  of  the  brain  incidental  to  sensation  or 
thought  can  itself  be  known  or  conceived  of  only 
as  phenomena  recognized  by  the  mind  as  external 
to  itself,  and  can  not,  therefore,  be  mind.  The  ex- 
ternal world  or  causes  are  more  frequently  spoken 
of  as  of  two  kinds,  matter  and  force.  Force  suf- 
ficiently well  covers  all  the  facts.  There  are  fixed 
agencies  known  as  matter,  and  mobile  agencies 
known  as  forces,  yet  there  would  seem  to  be  no 
fundamental  distinction  between  the  two.  Matter 
is  nothing  more  than  the  forces  which  produce  its 
phenomena.  This  we  must  infer,  and  this  is  all 
that  we  are  at  liberty  to  infer.  As  we  can  not  but 
put  causes  back  of  effects  as  broad  as  the  effects, 
so  we  must  not  give  the  causes  any  breadth  beyond 
the  effects. 

Moreover,  the  fixed  forces  expressed  in  matter 
are  in  flux  with  the  motor  forces.  Heat  is  now 
locked  up  in  the  chemical  affinities  of  atoms,  affin- 
ities which  determine  the  sensible  properties  of 
matter,  and  is  now  let  loose  again  in  mechanical 
motion.     In  the  circle,  within  which  forces  corre- 


1 6  MIND   AND    MATTER. 

late  with  each  other,  within  which  we  can  say  no 
force  is  lost,  fixed  and  motor  forces  draw  on  each 
other,  and  replace  each  other.  The  phenomenal, 
no  matter  how  far  we  carry  it,  must  ultimately  dis- 
appear, and  when  it  disappears,  it  can  only  leave 
that  unphenomenal  agency  which  is  its  source. 
Any  effort  to  clothe  this  final  force  with  material 
qualities  is  a  confusion  of  thought ;  a  struggle  to 
retain  phenomena  after  we  have  theoretically 
passed  beyond  them.  As,  then,  we  ultimately 
reach  force  and  this  only,  and  as  forces  of  both 
orders  are  interchangeable,  force  remains  for  us  as 
the  substratum  of  the  material  world.  The  funda- 
mental contrast  is  force  and  phenomena,  and  as 
phenomena  involve  the  presence  of  intellectual 
powers  to  receive  them,  it  is  that  of  matter  and 
mind. 

While  force  excludes  mind,  and  is  its  one  anti- 
thetic conception,  it  none  the  less  has  two  ele- 
ments, the  second  of  which  may  show  its  emana- 
tion from  mind.  These  elements  are  substance 
and  form.  Its  form  as  precise,  definite,  adapted 
to  an  end,  may  declare  its  origin  in  mind.  The 
numerical  exactness  of  forces  in  their  measure- 
ments, an  exactness  that  becomes  more  obvious 
and  complete  as  forces  are  more  simple  and  primi- 
tive, indicates  that  they  have  emanated  from  mind, 
and  received  from  mind  one  of  its  most  full,  pecu- 
liar and  unmistakable  impressions.  What  is  a 
more  indisputable  product  of  mind  than  mathe- 
matics, its  measurements,  methods,  curves,  discus 
sions  ?    And  what  in  mathematics  is  more  preemi- 


MATHEMATICS    AND    MIND.  1/ 

nently  of  the  mind  than  its  precision,  its  exact 
truths,  its  equalities  ?  Place  any  two  stones  a  defi- 
nite distance  from  each  other, — cut  a  stick  a  given 
length,  and  mind  is  disclosed  at  once  to  all  comers. 

But  the  primitive  forces  of  nature  show  the  ut- 
most precision  in  their  action  and  combination  ; 
they  work  under  exhaustive  mathematical  formu- 
lae. Gravitation,  crystallization,  chemical  combina- 
tion, the  motion  of  light,  heat,  are  all  numerical  ; 
and  so  arise  out  of  order  and  work  into  order. 
These  forces,  therefore,  in  the  precision  of  their 
activity,  do  the  very  highest  that  thought  can  do, 
answer  exactly  to  thought,  are  open  to  the  most 
perfect  comprehension  of  thought,  and  give  the 
only  proof  that  can  ever  be  given  of  springing 
from  thought.  It  is  the  outlines  and  measure- 
ments of  the  pyramids  that  indicate  their  origin, 
that  make  but  one  supposition  possible  in  refer- 
ence to  them. 

But  while  matter,  in  its  primitive  forms  and 
later  combinations,  includes  that  order  which  is  the 
external  language  of  mind  to  mind,  it  excludes 
mind  as  directly  present  in  it.  Mind  is  ever  con- 
scious, and  mind  only  is  conscious.  This  is  our 
first  truth,  our  point  of  departure.  To  speak  of 
intelligence  without  consciousness  is  to  cause  to 
waver  again  our  dividing  line  between  matter  and 
mind.  Space  and  consciousness — there  they  stand 
as  the  fundamentally  opposed  forms  of  two  orders 
of  being.  Forces  occupy  the  one,  mental  activi- 
ties the  other,  and  in  their  interplay  lies  the  whole 
field  of  knowledge. 


1 8  MIND    AND    MATTER. 

We  would  not  reiterate  as  we  do  these  simple 
facts  were  they  not  so  often,  and  in  such  various 
ways,  overlooked,  and  with  such  ever-returning 
confusion.  The  moment  explanation  loses  sight 
of  the  radical  diversity  between  states  of  con- 
sciousness and  any  physical  facts  whatever,  though 
they  be  states  of  brain,  comprehension  begins  to 
be  lost. 

The  boldest  way  in  which  this  division  is 
effaced  is  the  direct  assertion  of  the  identity  of 
the  two  activities  involved  in  thought,  that  of  the 
brain  and  that  of  the  mind.  Says  Taine  :  "  We 
are  entitled  then  to  admit  that  the  cerebral  event 
and  the  mental  event  are  at  foundation  but  one 
and  the  same  event  under  two  aspects,  one  moral, 
the  other  physical ;  one  accessible  to  conscious- 
ness, the  other  accessible  to  the  senses."  * 

This  is  to  say,  that  a  certain  cerebral  state 
knows  itself,  is  conscious  of  itself,  and  this  is 
thought.  It  also  knows  itself  as  it  would  appear 
to  itself  in  vision,  and  as  it  would  affect  touch,  and 
thus  is  prepared  to  say,  that  these  sensational  re- 
sults and  that  intellectual  result  are  the  same 
thing,  and  its  very  self  under  different  aspects  ; 
the  views  themselves  being  taken,  and  the  com- 
parison instituted  by  that  which  is  the  subject  and 
object  of  them.  It  is  impossible  for  confusion 
and  incomprehensibility  to  go  farther.  A  pure 
physical  fact  knows  itself  in  consciousness,  knows 
itself  in  sensation,  perplexes  itself  because  the  two 
outlooks  are  not  the  same,  and  at  length  congratu- 

*  On  Intelligence,  p.  185. 


INCOMPREHENSIBLE  EXPLANATION.       1 9 

lates  itself  in  the  brain  of  M.  Taine  because  they 
are  the  same,  and,  more  than  that,  its  very  self. 
Thus  its  words  and  distinctions,  for  a  moment  held 
apart  as  a  condition  of  thought,  are  lost  again  in 
identity  and  thought  disappears. 

This  conception  cannot  be  constructed,  cannot 
be  held  fast  for  an  instant,  if  we  really  accept  its 
conclusion,  and  identify  the  physical  and  mental 
facts.  A  simply  physical  fact  cannot,  without  the 
addition  of  a  transcendent  power  of  some  sort, 
erect  itself  above  itself,  and  look  at  itself  ;  nay, 
secure  two  very  different  visions  of  itself,  and 
then,  collapsing  into  the  center  of  its  own  circle  of 
being,  pronounce  the  whole  movement  and  every 
part  of  it,  the  subject  and  the  object,  the  seeing 
and  the  thing  seen,  the  thinking  and  the  thing 
thought,  one  simple  and  identical  state.  If  any 
explanation  was  ever  purely  verbal,  wholly  alien  to 
every  form  of  experience,  lifted  into  a  moment's 
plausibility  by  the  flitting  images  of  the  imagina- 
tion, this  is  certainly  it.  We  are  not  surprised  to 
hear  the  same  author  explain  mental  processes  in 
this  wise :  "  The  same  image,  becoming  precisely 
situated,  seems  to  be  joined  by  its  posterior  ex- 
tremity to  the  anterior  extremity  of  the  repressive 
images  or  sensations,  and  is  thus  joined  to 
them."  * 

The   anterior  and   posterior    extremities   of   a 

thought,  a  desire,  a  volition  !     Let  us  now  talk  of 

the  smell  of  a  rainbow,  the  harshness  of  a  color, 

and   the   flavor  of   the  wind.     Yet  these   are   the 

*  Ibid.  p.  345- 


20  MIND    AND    MATTER. 

men,  breaking  down  all  the  divisions  of  expe- 
rience, who  none  the  less  claim  to  draw  their  phi- 
losophy preeminently  and  exclusively  from  expe- 
rience. 

We  would  not  so  return  to  the  various 
methods  in  which  physical  and  mental  phenomena 
are  confounded  and  mutually  confused,  were  it  not 
that  the  philosophical  and  the  scientific  world  are 
everywhere  full  of  them,  and  that  it  is  impossible 
to  discuss  satisfactorily  the  growth  of  intelligence 
without  sweeping  away  these  innumerable  supposi- 
titious facts  that  have  gathered  about  the  mind.  A 
physical  image,  with  most  psychologists,  is  a  suf- 
ficient basis  on  which  to  assert  a  fact  and  con- 
struct a  theory. 

A  less  flagrant  violation  of  the  first  term  of  ex- 
perience, the  separation  of  matter  and  mind,  is  the 
extension  of  states  of  consciousness  beyond  the  tes- 
timony of  consciousness,  as  if  consciousness  could 
be  other  than  conscious.  Lewes  insists  against  ex- 
perience that  the  conditions  of  the  vital  organs  are 
known  to  us  in  consciousness,  because  they  affect 
ganglia  of  the  same  general  structure  with  those 
that  are  the  media  of  mental  activity.  Thus,  by 
a  conception  so  adverse  to  experience  that  ex- 
perience can  give  us  no  gleam  of  light  in  con- 
structing it,  he  extends  the  facts  of  mind  into  the 
intellectually  dark,  unknown,  organic  regions  below 
it,  and  so  secures  the  data  for  a  new  series  of  ex- 
planations. These  are  explanations  that  explain 
nothing  ;  that  mislead  the  mind  by  images  imperti- 
nent to  the  phenomena  under  consideration ;  that 


CONSCIOUSNESS    THAT    IS    NOT   CONSCIOUS.       21 

add  new  perplexities  and  leave  old  ones  in  full 
force.  A  consciousness  which  does  not  involve  a 
knowing  of  some  kind,  an  experience  of  a  definite 
order,  is  so  impossible  a  notion  as  to  expound 
nothing,  as  to  stand  itself  in  most  pressing  need  of 
exposition.  How,  then,  is  the  state  of  his  lungs  or 
of  his  heart,  at  any  given  moment,  known  to  one  t 
As  they  would  appear  to  the  eye,  or  to  touch  ;  or  as 
they  would  impress  a  physician  ;  or  as  the  causes 
operative  in  pains  or  in  pleasures  }  The  moment 
we  undertake  to  give  a  definite  empirical  form  to 
this  assumed  consciousness,  we  see  that  we  have 
no  such  consciousness  to  receive  it. 

Murphy,  sharing  also  this  universal  tendency  to 
mingle  mental  and  physical  facts,  regards  intelli- 
gence, in  his  work  on  Habit  and  Intelligence,  as 
"  an  attitude  of  all  Uving  beings,  and  co-extensive 
with  life  itself."  *  He  proceeds,  however,  to  say, 
"When  I  speak  of  intelligence,  I  mean  not  only  the 
conscious  intelligence  of  the  mind,  but  also  the  or- 
ganizing intelligence  which  adapts  the  eye  to  seeing, 
the  ear  for  hearing,  and  every  other  part  of  an 
organism  for  its  work.  The  usual  belief  is  that  the 
organizing  intelligence  and  the  mental  intelligence 
are  two  distinct  inteUigences.  I  have  stated  the 
reason  for  my  belief  that  they  are  not  distinct,  but 
are  two  separate  manifestations  of  the  same  intelli- 
gence, which  is  co-extensive  with  life,  though  it  is 
for  the  most  part  unconscious,  and  only  becomes 
fully  conscious  in  the  brain  of  man."  f     We  shall 

*  Vol.  i.,  p.  vi.  t  Ibid. 


22  MIND    AND    MATTER. 

more  and  more  confound  different  things  as  we 
strive  to  deal  with,  and  talk  of  unconscious  intelli- 
gence. Nothing  can  be  more  remote  from  human 
experience  than  intelligence  which  is  not  intel- 
lige-rtce,  yet  is  set  to  do  the  work  of  intelligence. 
Whatever  unconscious  intelligence  may  be,  when 
it  is  anything,  it  is  something  which  we  ought  to 
sharply  distinguish  from  intelligence  proper,  from 
conscious  knowing.  When  such  distinctions  as 
these  are  blurred  we  can  hope  very  little  from  the 
analytic  process. 

In  a  like  confused  and  confusing  way,  Hamilton 
and  a  large  number  with  him  partially  obliterate 
the  dividing  line  between  matter  and  mind,  and 
blend  their  opposed  phenomena,  by  insisting  on 
sub-conscious  states  of  mind,  and  offering  them  as 
potent  factors  in  modifying  and  expounding  con- 
sciousness. States  of  brain  and  conscious  states, 
or  states  of  mind,  are  both  elements  of  the  psycholog- 
ical problem  equally  certain,  and  perfectly  distinct, 
each  in  its  own  order  ;  but  beyond  these  two 
sets  of  phenomena  we  know  of  no  others.  We 
know  of  no  phenomena  which  are  not  in  the  brain, 
nor  yet  in  consciousness.  We  have  no  region  in 
which  to  locate  them.  The  figurative  prefix  sub, 
in  sub-consciousness,  does  not  help  us,  any  more 
than  would  i-//(^-space,  or  super-s,Y>2iCQ.  Neither  have 
we  any  organs  with  which  to  reach  the  facts  of  such 
a  region,  nor  yet  any  faculties  with  which  to  con- 
ceive them,  or  bring  them  forward  as  constituents 
of  intelligible  explanations.  A  i-^/^-conscious  state, 
where  is  it }  what  is  it }  what  are  its  efficiencies  > 


SUB-CONSCIOUSNESS.  23 

We  can  make  no  answer  unless  we  are  willing  to 
regard  it  as  a  purely  physical  fact,  a  state  of  brain, 
and  then  trace,  as  we  may  be  able,  its  connections 
with  mental  activity. 

This  brings  us  to  an  equivalent  and  much  more 
plausible  theory  of  blended  phenomena,  that  of  un- 
conscious cerebration,  so  vigorously  held  by  Carpen- 
ter, so  vigorously  urged  by  Ribot,  so  quietly  as- 
sumed by  almost  all  who  unite  psychology  to  sci- 
ence. The  favorite  phrase  and  the  happy  phrase 
is  that  of  "unconscious  cerebration."  Few  are 
aware  how  much  a  doctrine  may  be  indebted  to  a 
fortunate  phrase,  and  how  misleading  such  phrases 
often  are.  They  become  citadels  to  which  com- 
batants retire  after  every  encounter ;  talismanic 
catch-words  which  restore  courage  and  strength 
after  every  overthrow.  They  hold  on  this  way  year 
after  year,  and  once  in  vogue,  have  the  appearance 
of  a  substantial  presence  that  is  rarely  challenged. 
Let  us  challenge  this  new-comer  before  it  is  in 
possession  of  complete  citizenship  in  the  philoso- 
phical world. 

Few,  I  think,  have  considered  all  that  is  in- 
volved in  the  phrase,  "  unconscious  cerebration." 
The  cerebral  act  as  an  unconscious  cerebration,  is 
called  on  to  take  its  place  with'  conscious  acts  of 
cerebration,  to  fill  out  the  series,  and  maintain  un- 
broken its  intellectual  connections.  The  funda- 
mental fact,  therefore,  in  a  succession  of  mental 
states  are  the  cerebrations.  When  these  proceed 
in  the  right  order,  every  end  is  reached,  conscious- 
ness is  an  incident  of  the  series  which  may  or  may 


24  MIND    AND    MATTER. 

not  accompany  it,  and  when  absent,  in  whole  or  in 
part,  does  not  affect  its  practical  value. 

It  is  plainly  involved  in  this  philosophy,  then, 
that  a  certain  cerebral  activity  is  the  exact  equiva- 
lent of  a  certain  mental  state,  is  the  very  substance 
of  that  state,  so  much  so  that  mental  states  can 
pass  into  other  dependent  mental  states  and  so 
forward  to  conclusions,  though  unaccompanied  by 
consciousness.  Every  phase  of  deliberation  and 
volition,  of  imagination  and  feeling,  and  every  vary- 
ing combination  of  them,  have  an  efficient  cause  in  pe- 
culiar forms  of  nervous  action.  A  thought  about  Lon- 
don thus  involves  an  exact  cerebral  process  which 
discriminates  it  from  a  thought  about  Liverpool  or 
Paris  or  Pekin.  Every  possible  object  and  every 
possible  thought  about,  or  feeling  concerning,  it,  or 
volition  toward  it,  implies  an  equally  distinct  cere- 
bral state  that  occasions  it.  As  there  is  no  object 
in  the  universe  which  may  not  be  the  object  of 
thought  and  a  great  variety  of  thoughts  ;  as  very 
many  of  these  may  also  be  the  subjects  of  feeling 
and  action  ;  and  as  the  possible  combinations  of 
these  become  wholly  immeasurable,  this  doctrine  of 
physical  states  that  correlate  with  each  one  of  them 
becomes  very  remarkable.  A  few  ounces  of  mat- 
ter called  the  brain,  in  its  various  transitions, 
transitions  so  distinct  as  to  give  instantly  separ- 
able results  in  every  man's  experience,  afford  the 
equivalent  of  all  that  is  or  can  be  in  the  Universe. 
The  brain  is  more  than  a  microcosm,  since  it  re- 
flects not  merely  facts  but  every  imaginary  concep- 
tion about  them.     We  have  reached  by  this  philo- 


UNCONSCIOUS  CEREBRATION.         2 5 

sophy  neither  simplicity  nor  comprehensibility.  We 
do  not  say  that  such  a  multiplicity  of  distinct 
processes  in  the  brain  is  impossible,  but  that  the 
supposition  is  very  extreme. 

A  still  greater  difficulty  is,  these  succeeding 
acts  of  cerebration  involve  each  other.  Their  de- 
pendencies are  between  themselves,  and  turn  on 
physical  conditions.  The  conscious  products,  those 
of  thought,  feeling,  volition,  are  so  secondary,  that 
it  is  immaterial  in  any  given  case  whether  they  dis- 
appear or  are  retained  in  the  series.  The  conscious 
images  will  still  come  out  on  the  canvas  in  an  ad- 
vanced stage  of  the  process  in  due  order  and 
quality.  In  the  diversion  of  children  we  sometimes 
so  combine  the  hands  that  the  light  of  a  lamp  will 
cast  on  the  wall  the  image  of  a  rabbit.  The  fingers 
imitate  the  play  of  the  jaws  in  eating,  and  a  sudden 
movement  represents  the  spring  of  the  animal. 
The  mimic  scene  on  the  wall  has  but  a  remote  re- 
semblance, either  in  appearance  or  in  fact,  to  the 
causes  that  occasion  it.  The  lamp  may  be  ex- 
tinguished without  arresting  the  motion  of  the 
hands.  It  may  be  relighted,  and  the  pantomime  is 
resumed  at  the  point  it  has  reached.  We  have  a 
play  of  rabbits  without  any  rabbits  ;  eating  and 
leaping  without  either  food,  mouth  or  limbs  ;  and  an 
apparently  coherent  series  of  actions  with  no  direct 
connection  whatever  between  them.  Something  of 
the  same  relation  would,  under  this  view  of  cere- 
bration, lie  between  thought  and  thought,  thought 
and  feeling,  and  between  all  mental  phenomena  and 
their  physical  causes,  the  passing  processes  of  the 


26  MIND    AND    MATTER. 

brain.  One  thought  seems  to  arise  from  another, 
the  first  feeling  to  occasion  the  second,  but  tliis  is 
illusion.  So  does  our  rabbit  appear  to  relish  his 
food,  or  in  sudden  fear  to  forsake  it.  For  all  that 
there  is  no  rabbit. 

Under  this  view,  pressed  to  its  issue,  the  connec- 
tions of  thought  disappear  ;  mental  phenomena  fall 
apart;  it  is  an  accident  of  lights  and  screens, 
whether  they  are  present  at  all.  The  successive 
transitions  of  unconscious  cerebration  have  between 
themselves  no  inherent  reasons  ;  no  connections 
either  of  logic  or  imagination  lie  between  them, 
while  the  thoughts  which  accompany  them  are  a 
child's  diversion  on  the  wall,  due  to  the  molecular 
play  of  the  brain  as  the  hght  of  consciousness  for 
the  moment  streams  through  it.  This  again  is  the 
subversion  of  mind,  since  thought  is  nothing  of  any 
moment  unless  it,  as  thought,  determines  its  own 
connections,  and  settles  its  own  convictions. 
Thought  cannot  be  suicidal  in  this  way,  and  carry 
back  any  value  or  rightfulness  to  its  self-destructive 
reasoning. 

It  will  be  well  also  to  observe  not  merely  the 
extravagant  conclusion  involved  in  this  doctrine, 
but  the  exceedingly  meagre  supply  of  facts  on 
which  it  rests.  Not  one  fact,  really  and  fully  per- 
tinent to  its  proof,  is  forthcoming.  We  know 
that  there  is  a  destruction  of  brain-tissue  incident 
to  thought,  hence  we  infer,  naturally  enough,  though 
the  inference  is  quite  in  advance  of  the  evidence, 
that  each  given  amount  of  mental  activity  is  at- 
tended with  an  equivalent  amount  of  cerebration, 


INSUFFICIENT   FACTS.  2/ 

and  so  with  an  equivalent  decomposition  of  brain- 
tissue.  We  also  know  that  states  of  brain  are  in- 
fluential over  states  of  mind.  Out  of  these  two 
facts  we  make  haste  to  construct  the  theory  of  un- 
conscious cerebration.  Our  primary  facts  are  sunk 
out  of  sight  under  the  immense  burden  of  hypothe- 
sis imposed  upon  them.  Because  brain-tissue  is 
destroyed  by  mental  action  does  it  follow  that  the 
accompanying  cerebration  occasions  the  thought, 
and  has  peculiarities  exactly  corresponding  to  its 
peculiarities  }  In  the  same  way  might  it  follow, 
that  in  lifting  weights  each  motion  of  the  muscles 
is  specific  and  settles  the  character  of  the  weight 
raised  and  its  line  of  direction.  The  lifting  of  iron 
or  stone  or  wood  should  imply  diverse  muscular 
states,  and  each  movement  up  or  down,  east  or  west, 
its  own  equivalent  muscular  expression.  The  only 
efficient  element  in  the  destruction  of  muscle  is  the 
vigor  of  the  effort.  The  form  and  direction  of  it 
are  immaterial  except  as  they  bear  upon  its  energy. 
Moreover,  it  is  the  form  of  the  effort  that  deter- 
mines the  muscular  state,  not  the  muscular  state 
that  fixes  the  form.  Is  it  not,  then,  more  just  to 
suppose  that  the  same  thing  is  true  in  the  allied 
case  of  the  brain,  that  the  mind  directs  the  effort, 
and  that  this  effort  tells  on  tissue  by  its  vigor  and 
not  by  its  specific  purposes.  Till  at  least  one  case 
can  be  given  in  which  a  definite  molecular  state  is 
shown  to  be  the  stated  antecedent  of  an  equally  de- 
finite thought,  this  theory  of  unconscious  cerebra 
tion  has  not  made  its  first  point  in  proof. 

But  it  may  be  said,  this  step  has  been  taken. 


28  MIND    AND    MATTER. 

The  hallucinations  of  disease,  the  misleading  images 
of  insanity  are  directly  traceable  to  states  of  brain 
as  efficient  forces.  It  would  certainly  be  more  in 
order  to  adduce  healthy  than  diseased  conditions  of 
the  nervous  system  in  establishing  the  normal  de- 
pendencies of  the  mind.  May  not  this  be  one 
feature  of  a  diseased  condition,  that  the  ordinary 
control  of  the  mind  over  its  organs  is  lost,  and  the 
healthy  relation  of  activities  reversed  }  We  should 
not  argue  from  the  condition  of  a  paralytic,  or  from 
the  spasms  of  tetanus,  to  the  ordinary  connection 
of  muscles  and  nerves.  One  passing  into  insanity 
is  often  only  too  conscious  of  the  mastery  which 
new  and  dreadful  impressions  are  gaining  over  him, 
of  the  trepidation  of  the  mind  in  their  presence  ; 
and  sometimes  an  energetic  purpose  may  serve  to 
check  or  to  overcome  disease.  Waking  from  a 
troubled  dream,  we  are  in  the  same  way  conscious 
of  our  returning  voluntary  power,  dispelling  its 
monstrous  images,  subduing  its  fear,  and  restoring 
order  and  quiet  to  the  thoughts.  It  may  easily  be 
that  insanity  is  due  to  this  very  fact,  that  a  diseased 
state  of  the  brain  overpowers  the  mind,  arrests  its 
control,  and  sends  eddying  back  upon  it  conditions 
of  irritation  and  distortion  it  cannot  order  into  clear 
perception  or  correct  thought. 

But  this  proof  of  the  philosophy,  such  as  it  is, 
does  not  go  far  enough.  No  specific  state  of  the 
brain,  even  in  disease,  has  been  shown  to  be  the 
condition  of  an  equally  specific  hallucination.  Ha- 
lucinations  of  a  certain  order  are  traced  in  a 
general  way  to  diseased  tissue;  that  is  all.     No 


INSANITY.  29 

exact  mental  product  is  thereby  made  referable  to 
one  exact  molecular  action.  It  may  well  enough 
remain  true,  so  far  as  this  proof  is  concerned,  that 
the  disease  is  a  general  disturbing  cause ;  while 
the  mental  disorder  incident  to  it  is  to  be  ascribed 
in  its  precise  features  to  present  and  previous  in- 
tellectual states.  The  abnormal  action  is  not  the 
mere  shadow  of  the  physical  facts,  but  these  intro- 
duce themselves  as  a  disturbing  agency  into  an  ex- 
perience with  its  own  impulses  and  own  laws. 

This  is  the  more  probable  as  the  mind  is  ob- 
viously affected  by  the  state  of  bodily  organs  other 
than  the  cerebrum.  The  stomach,  the  muscles,  the 
glands  may  control  the  imagery  of  dreams  and 
modify  the  current  of  waking  thoughts.  Will  the 
physicist  now  say,  that  to  each  state  of  digestion 
there  are  incident  certain  cerebrations,  and  to  these 
fixed  images  ^  Such  assertions  as  these  assume 
the  proof,  they  do  not  furnish  it.  They  arise  as 
deductions  from  the  notion  of  an  unbroken  equival- 
ence of  forces  passing  inward  from  the  physical  to 
the  mental  world,  while  this  is  the  very  thing  de- 
nied by  the  intuitionalist,  the  very  thing  to  be 
proved  by  the  physicist.  To  assume  under  a  gene- 
ral physical  axiom  this  equivalence,  is  to  postulate 
furtively  the  truth  of  the  conclusion,  and  then  de- 
rive it  from  itself.  The  facts  do  not  bear  on  their 
face  this  equivalence  and  transfer  of  causes.  The 
common  convictions  of  men  do  not  accept  it ;  and 
the  initiatory  proof  of  the  doctrine  is  not  furnished, 
till  some  precise  thought  is  by  necessary  reference 
identified  with  some  precise  cerebration.     Proof  is 


30  MIND    AND    MATTER. 

not  to  proceed  under  axioms  applicable  to  purely 
pjiysical  facts,  since  the  fitness  of  the  extension  of 
these  axioms  is  the  very  point  at  issue. 

If  we  grant  this  theory  of  unconscious  cerebra- 
tion it  will  bring  with  it  no  explanation,  unless  we 
allow  its  advocates  to  set  aside  the  inherent  con- 
nections of  thought,  and  resolve  states  of  mind  into 
disjointed  images,  chasing  each  other  over  the  field 
of  consciousness.  The  shadows  of  clouds  on  the 
landscape  are  incidents  of  vapor,  sunshine  and 
wind,  and  come  and  go  under  the  operation  of 
forces  not  at  all  present  in  the  apparent  phenomena. 
If  we  are  willing  to  make  this  image  the  analogon 
of  mental  processes,  if  we  are  willing  to  deny  all 
direct  dependence  of  conclusions  on  premises,  and 
make  them  both  the  empty  images  of  physical 
things  united  only  by  a  physical  link,  our  theory 
may  seem  to  subserve  some  purpose.  Yet  it  is  im- 
material whether  it  does  or  does  not,  for  it  has 
proved  that  proof  is  a  sequence  of  shadows,  and  one 
sequence  should  be  as  logically  significant  as  an- 
other. If  it  is  not,  if  one  series  has  not  the  value 
of  every  other  series,  we  must  at  once  fall  back  on 
that  logical  coherence  of  thought  which  we  have  just 
now  denied,  or  we  cannot  judge  between  them. 
But  if  proof  as  proof  disappears,  what  becomes  of 
our  argument  ?  If  Hamlet  is  slain  in  the  first 
scene,  where  is  our  play  in  five  acts  ? 

If,  however,  by  mere  assertion  we  attempt 
to  maintain  the  integrity  of  the  mental  processes, 
our  unconscious  cerebrations  will  still  lose  all  power 
of  explanation.     It  is  inexplicable  how  premises, 


PROOF    ITSELF    OVERTHROWN.  3 1 

which  lie  below  consciousness,  can  sustain  conclu- 
sions in  consciousness,  how  the  mind  can  wittingly 
take  up  a  mental  movement  at  an  advanced  stage, 
having  missed  its  primary  steps.  Unconscious 
cerebrations  as  the  equivalents  of  thought,  as  tran- 
sitions to  them  and  from  them,  are  new  perplex- 
ities, not  the  solution  of  old  ones.  How  am  I  to 
understand  by  virtue  of  what  I  have  not  under- 
stood ?  Or,  if  I  do  understand,  is  not  that  the  as- 
sertion of  a  conscious  process  co-extensive  with  com- 
prehension }  Any  other  statement  of  the  facts  is 
itself  a  riddle,  not  a  solution.  It  is  simpler  to  ac- 
cept the  first  facts  without  exposition  than  to  put 
upon  them  these  terms  of  explanation. 

That  we  should  remember  at  one  time  what  we 
cannot  at  another ;  that  we  should  be  brighter  in 
the  morning  than  in  the  previous  evening ;  that 
fatigue  should  tell  upon  mental  powers ;  that  fortu- 
nate thoughts  should  flash  suddenly  upon  us  ;  that 
creative  moments  should  overtake  the  man  of 
genius,  are  facts  not  very  perplexing  till  we  add  to 
them  this  doctrine  of  unconscious  cerebrations,  a 
steady  moiling  of  the  brain  by  day  and  by  night 
by  which  we  make  even  time  through  the  whole 
term  of  our  spiritual  being.  This  is  curious,  a  good 
deal  more  curious  than  that  the  strong  man  some- 
times shakes  himself,  and  does  a  great  work  at  once. 
The  labor  of  thought,  under  this  theory  of  uncon- 
scious cerebrations,  may  be  more  and  more  disposed 
of  in  hours  of  rest.  Like  the  thrifty  commercial 
traveler,  the  man  of  letters  may  come  forth  refresh- 
ed from  his  palace-car  at  the  last  station,  having 


32  MIND    AND    MATTER. 

passed  the  night  in  sleep  while  the  busy  wheels  of 
thought  were  revolving.  Here  is  the  long-sought 
royal  road  to  knowledge. 

That  the  mind  like  the  body  grows  in  power  ; 
that  it  is  impaired  by  fatigue  ;  that  it  puts  forth  on 
occasions  sudden  energies ;  that  its  activity  is  mod- 
ified by  physical  conditions,  these  are  ultimate 
truths  in  its  constitution.  Diligence  also  prepares 
the  way  for  a  discovery,  a  theory,  an  inventive 
mood,  by  returning  often  through  protracted  periods 
to  the  same  topic,  and  so  familiarizing  the  mind  with 
all  its  features.  The  last  result  is  thus  the  product 
of  conscious  activity,  not  unconscious  cerebrations. 
This  habit  of  thoughtfulness,  productiveness,  is  a 
material  difference  between  man  and  man. 

The  mind  also  has  states  of  elevation,  due  partly 
to  physical  and  partly  to  mental  causes  often  too 
subtile  for  discovery,  and  these  explain  much  has- 
tily referred  to  unconscious  cerebral  labor. 

New  and  great  burdens  immediately  rest  on  this 
doctrine  of  unconscious  cerebration.  We  are  wont 
to  be  first  impressed  by  the  solutions  which  a  theory 
offers,  and  only  later  to  fully  appreciate  the  addi- 
tional difficulties  which  it  brings  with  it.  A  pecu- 
liar state  of  brain  is,  by  this  hypothesis,  made  the 
efficient  cause  of  each  mental  state  or  act.  Our 
thoughts  are  given,  retained  and  restored  in  direct 
dependence  on  physical  forces.  Not  only  is  the 
brain  thus  made,  as  already  pointed  out,  the  seat  of 
an  infinite  number  of  states,  these  states,  in  order 
that  memory  may  be  fully  operative,  must  be  so 
preserved  as  to  be  capable  of  easy  repetition  with- 


NEW    DIFFICULTIES.  33 

out  disturbance  to  each  other  or  to  new  activity. 
This  susceptibiUty  to  fresh  constructive  movements, 
this  exact  retention  of  old  ones,  must  be  held  fast 
amid  all  the  decomposition  and  recomposition  inci- 
dent to  activity  and  growth.  When  the  memory  is 
lost  by  disease  this  construction  has  fallen  to  pieces. 
When  it  is  restored  by  health  these  outlines  of 
thought  have  reappeared  under  the  identical  pat- 
terns. All  this  is  pure  physical  imagery  of  the 
most  improbable  and  inexplicable  character,  and 
when  it  is  all  conceded,  it  fails  to  expound  the  facts 
to  which  it  is  applied.  It  remains  in  itself  incom- 
prehensible, extravagantly  so,  and  tells  us  nothing 
clearly  about  the  mental  states  which  accompany 
it.  The  only  thing  in  these  which  it  can  be  thought 
to  explain  is  their  order  of  sequence,  and  this  it  ex- 
plains by  the  utter  subversion  of  that  very  intrinsic 
dependence  between  our  mental  states  which  alone 
interests  us  in  them. 

We  shall,  then,  in  oversight  of  all  this  accumu- 
lated rubbish  of  sub-conscious  phenomena,  of  phy- 
sical facts  thrust  in  the  place  of  mental  ones, 
proceed  to  discuss  intelligence  as  intelligence,  and 
inquire  into  its  origin  and  growth  and  grades 
under  its  only  known  type,  that  of  consciousness. 
We  start  with  the  common  convictions  of  men  in 
a  belief  in  the  integrity  and  relative  independence  of 
the  phenomena  of  consciousness,  and  we  shall  hope, 
at  the  close  of  our  inquiry,  to  possess  additional 
knowledge  of  the  interaction  of  the  two  con- 
structive elements  of  the  world.  We  have  dwelt  at 
opening  on  the  radical  distinction  between  the  two, 

3 


34  MIND    AND    MATTER. 

as  it  would  be  impossible  for  us  to  understand 
comparative  psychology,  the  slow  evolution  of  the 
intelligence  now  presented  in  man,  without  accept- 
ing the  unique  nature  of  the  final  product,  the  re- 
moteness of  the  end  from  the  beginning,  the  height 
reached  in  our  spiritual  nature.  It  is  the  subtile  and 
prolonged  interaction  of  two  very  distinct  factors, 
to  wit,  the  physical  and  the  intellectual  ones,  blend- 
ing and  combining  in  many  ways  without  a  loss  on 
the  part  of  either  of  their  distinctive  natures,  that 
is  to  occupy  us. 

We  are  certainly  right  in  the  outset  in  accept- 
ing apparent  facts  as  real  facts,  and  holding  apart 
phenomena  so  distinct  in  form  as  those  of  matter 
and  mind,  till  an  identity  of  nature  shall  be  estab- 
lished between  them.  If  we  assume  similarity 
where  it  does  not  exist,  we  remove  the  very  object 
of  inquiry.  We  must  in  the  beginning  accept  an 
apparent  difference  as  a  real  difference,  and  wait  for 
investigation  to  establish,  if  it  be  established  at  all, 
an  agreement  of  forces  under  diverse  manifestations. 
It  is  to  this  inquiry,  the  slow  superinduction  of  m.ental 
upon  physical  facts,  and  the  relation  of  the  two  as 
indicated  by  this  historic  evolution,  that  we  address 
ourselves  ;  and  no  inquiry  is  more  interesting,  and 
few  more  difficult.  We  can  ill  afford  to  prejudice 
our  success  by  too  narrow  forecast  or  too  rigid 
judgments.  We  must  be  content  to  see  fully  what 
we  see  as  the  first  condition  of  bringing  to  it  any 
comprehension.  We  must  first  recognize  the  grand 
diversity  of  products  in  the  midst  of  which  we  are, 
before  our  synthesis  of  causes  can  be  profoundly 


DIVERSIY   ACCEPED.  35 

instructive.  If  distances  and  differences  disap- 
pear before  us ;  if  the  deep  waters  always  flow 
shallow  under  our  keel,  then  our  estimates  will  be 
trifling,  our  soundings  superficial.  We  shall  reach 
a  vapid  harmony  of  words  by  effacing  the  grand 
diversity  of  things  ;  we  shall  solve  our  problem  by 
abolishing  its  conditions. 


II  15  II  A  li  V 

UJS"  J  V  KIJSITV    OF 

CAIJFOKM  V. 


CHAPTER  II. 

PHYSICAL  FORCES  AS  RELATED  TO  VITAL  FORCES. 

Two  dangers  accompany  classification,  or  an 
effort  to  understand  by  resemblances  the  facts  of 
the  world  in  their  relation  to  each  other.  The 
first  is  that  of  overlooking  the  gradations  by  which 
the  points  of  extreme  contrast  are  united,  and  so 
of  regarding  differences  as  more  fundamental  than 
they  really  are.  This  is  the  early  error  of  imma- 
ture knowledge. 

The  second  danger  is  the  reverse  of  this. 
When  we  discover  the  lines  of  demarcation  to  be 
vanishing  ones,  and  that  leading  characteristics 
very  slowly  disappear  as  we  approach  and  pass 
their  boundaries,  while  other  characteristics  arise 
in  the  same  gradual  way  as  we  leave  these  behind 
us,  we  jump  to  the  opposite  conclusion,  and  regard 
our  distinctions  of  classes  as  relatively  immaterial. 
The  ultimate  value  of  a  difference  depends  on  its 
real  nature,  and  is  not  much  modified  by  the  steps 
by  which  it  has  been  reached.  The  difference  re- 
mains a  fixed  fact,  a  determinate  feature  in  the 
final  results,  not  reduced  in  its  importance  by  in- 
termediate gradations.  These  gradations  instruct 
36 


ERRORS    IN    METHOD    OF    INQUIRY.  3/ 

US  in  the  order  of  development,  and  help  to  define 
the  value  of  differences,  but  do  not  remove  or  es- 
sentially reduce  the  diversity  which  exists  in  the 
results  themselves,  or  destroy  its  worth  as  knowl- 
edge. Our  knowledge  is  made  rather  the  more 
complete.  Under  a  doctrine  of  development  our 
spaces  in  classification  gain  a  double  measurement, 
that  of  sensible  and  constructive  qualities,  and 
that  of  the  length  of  the  periods  during  which 
these  diversities  have  grown  up.  These  two  will 
in  large  measure  coincide,  and  serve  to  explain 
each  other.  For  illustration,  the  apparent  differ- 
ence between  physical  forces  and  mental  activities 
is  the  greatest  possible,  and  the  whole  period  of 
development  lies  between  these  two  poles.  We  do 
not  in  classification  stand  simply  on  one  peak,  and 
look  across  to  another.  We  travel  down  a  path  of 
descent  to  a  line  of  union,  and  then  thread  our 
way  by  one  of  ascent  to  the  summit  of  its  neigh- 
bor. Now  the  predominance  of  pure  physical 
forces  is  separated  from  the  prevalence  of  intellec- 
tual power  by  the  whole  diameter  of  being,  equally 
in  the  period  occupied  in  its  development  as  in  the 
apparent  significance  of  the  distinction ;  and  so 
we  are  doubly  sure  of  our  radical  antithesis. 

A  fundamental  difference  as  we  have  striven  to 
show  between  mental  phenomena  and  physical 
phenomena  is  that  of  consciousness,  as  the  form- 
element  of  the  one,  and  that  of  space,  as  the  form- 
element  of  the  other.  Now  it  does  not  reduce  the 
value  of  this  characteristic  of  the  two  sets  of  facts 
that  consciousness  descends  from  one  grade  of  ani- 


38  PHYSICAL   FORCES,    ETC. 

mal  life  to  a  lower,  and  at  length  expires,  like  a 
beam  of  light  swallowed  up  in  darkness,  some- 
where in  the  obscure  regions  of  the  inferior  half 
of  this  kingdom.  Mind  remains  none  the  less  in 
its  complete  form  the  realm  of  light  and  glory  we 
have  all  along  thought  it  to  be.  These  measure- 
less stretches  of  growth  by  which  we  approach  the 
luxuriant  fields  of  intellectual  activity ;  first,  the 
blank,  weary,  never-ending  desert ;  then  the  single 
dwarf  shrub  at  long  intervals ;  then  clustering 
shrubs  and  new  varieties  ;  then  scantily  clothed 
fields ;  and,  at  the  very  end  of  the  journey,  afflu- 
ent life  under  a  happy  combination  of  higher  con- 
ditions, are  fitted  rather  to  impress  us  with  the 
value  of  the  diversities  by  which,  in  the  intellec- 
tual world,  a  new  element,  that  of  consciousness,  is 
brought  forward,  fostered  by  nature,  and  deliber- 
ately unfolded  in  complete  spiritual  power, 

The  processes  that  go  on  outside  of  conscious- 
ness are  not,  in  their  intellectual  bearings,  so  very 
unlike  those  that  go  on  in  it.  The  difference  lies 
in  the  new,  the  inscrutable  combining  condition 
which  consciousness  itself  more  and  more  dis- 
tinctly furnishes,  as  its  facts  enlarge,  and  the  sig- 
nificance of  the  powers  it  contains  is  felt.  The 
molecular  actions,  the  chemical  and  thermal  forces 
of  a  living  body  are  not  distinct  from  those  opera- 
tive in  inorganic  matter,  yet  none  the  less  a  highly 
organized  body,  like  that  of  man,  does  impress  the 
profoundest  differences  in  final  results  on  all  the 
processes  that  go  on  within  it.  A  knowledge  of 
physics  and  of  inorganic  chemistry  in  its  closest 


THE  RELATION  OF  EACH  NEW  ELEMENT.   39 

relations  to  organic  chemistry  does  not  disguise 
this  profound  diversity,  but  helps  us  to  appreciate 
it  rather.  That  thought  is  shallow  indeed,  that 
fancies,  by  any  successes  whatever  in  elementary 
facts,  it  shall  master  the  secret  of  those  agencies, 
so  wonderfully  combined  and  guided,  which  build 
up  the  human  body,  and  treasure  and  transmit  its 
tendencies.  When  we  are  discussing  life,  what- 
ever we  may  choose  to  regard  it,  whether  a  force 
or  a  combination  of  forces,  or  a  spiritual  power,  it 
is  precisely  these  strangely  new  and  most  efficient 
conditions  which  it  imposes  on  all  that  takes  place 
within  its  circle  that  we  need  to  consider,  and 
these  conditions  lose  none  of  their  distinctions, 
none  of  their  importance,  because  they  have  arisen 
slowly,  now  exist  in  many  forms,  and  gather  within 
the  circuit  of  their  activity  the  oldest  agencies. 
This  fact  makes,  however,  a  knowledge  of  the  in- 
teractions which  fall  to  purely  physical  and  chemi- 
cal forces  preliminary  to  biology,  while  leaving  the 
field  of  biology,  in  its  rapid  growth  of  differences, 
its  new  uses,  and  new  combinations,  as  we  pass 
from  the  margin  inward,  quite  by  itself. 

Preliminary  to  a  discussion  of  the  facts  of  con- 
sciousness, we  must  know  what  are  the  primary 
forces  on  which  it  begins  to  be  operative,  when  it 
first  makes  its  appearance  among  them,  and  the 
way  in  which  it  slowly  works  them  up  into  its  now 
higher  uses.  But  these  primitive,  physical  facts 
we  are  now  to  regard  in  their  intellectual  rather 
than  in  their  sensible  features.  This  is  our  imme- 
diate purpose,  to  give  in  order  the  intellectual  char- 


40  PHYSICAL    FORCES,    ETC. 

acteristics  of  strictly  unconscious  forces,  those 
forces  on  which  and  with  which  the  conscious 
powers  and  processes  are  to  be  built  up  when  they 
arise.  The  simplest  physical  force  is  mechanical 
force,  that  force  which  expresses  itself  in  the  mo- 
tion of  masses.  This  motion  of  bodies  of  sensible 
magnitudes  seems  in  all  cases  to  arise  out  of  forces 
that  are  primarily  molecular.  Gravitation  is  such 
a  force ;  it  lies  between  ultimate  particles  and  there 
receives  its  first  measurement  and  its  final  refer- 
ence. Heat,  a  constant  source  of  great  move- 
ments, as  in  the  atmosphere,  or  the  ocean,  or  the 
earth's  crust,  or  as  in  the  steam-engine,  is  itself  a 
molecular  movement,  and  the  product  of  molecu- 
lar reconstruction.  The  same  is  true  of  animal 
strength.  The  source  of  it  is  muscular  tissue,  and 
the  significant  feature  of  this  tissue  is  ready  molec- 
ular change.  Mechanical  force,  therefore,  is  only 
molecular  force  massed,  and  is  constantly  passing 
again  into  molecular  movement.  As  a  body  is  a 
combination  of  atoms,  and  may  dissolve  again  into 
them,  so  the  movement  of  masses  is  the  harmon- 
ized movement  of  molecules,  and  may  pass  again 
into  their  disruptive  movement.  The  significant 
intellectual  feature  of  this  fact  is,  that  all  mechani- 
cal force  springs  from  inscrutable  molecular  forces, 
and  that  molecular  forces,  escaping  all  farther  an- 
alysis, and  known  only  in  certain  definite  results, 
are  the  ultimate  constituents  of  the  world.  The 
atoms  of  any  substance  express  in  reference  to 
the  atoms  of  other  substances,  certain  forces  or 
definite  activities,  and  the  molecules  arising  from 


ATOMIC    FORCES    AS    STARTING   POINTS.  4I 

these  atoms  in  their  various  combinations  in  turn 
express  new  forces  in  reference  to  other  molecules. 
Hence  atomic  forces  become  the  seat  and  source 
of  all  forces,  and  of  all  mystery.  Atoms  deter- 
mine molecules,  molecules  settle  properties,  define 
physical  and  chemical  activities,  and  the  motion  of 
masses.  Hence  what  we  know  as  primitive,  physi- 
cal and  chemical  facts,  the  division  of  distinct  ele- 
ments into  distinct  atoms,  the  action  of  these 
atoms  on  each  other  in  molecules,  issuing  in  prop- 
erties and  motions,  become  the  ultimate  facts  of 
the  world,  our  first  inscrutable,  constructive  terms. 
Any  ultimate  fact  as  incapable  of  farther  analysis 
is  a  mystery,  that  is  something  given  with  no  ex- 
planatory mode  back  of  it.  Ultimate  truths  in 
mind,  that  is,  axioms,  are  the  plainest  of  all  truths  ; 
ultimate  truths  in  matter,  that  is,  atomic  proper- 
ties, are  the  obscurest  of  all  truths.  The  mind 
brings  the  clearest  light  to  its  primitive  intuitions, 
and  is  more  uncertain  as  to  their  application  in  ex- 
perience ;  it  brings  the  least  light  to  the  first  con- 
tent of  the  senses.  This  is  material  most  alien  to 
it,  and  its  sense  of  knowledge  increases  only  as  it 
discovers  the  methods  in  which,  under  its  own 
ideas,  these  inscrutable  factors  are  combined. 
Here,  again,  its  knowledge  is  one  of  relations,  and 
not  of  ultimate  facts. 

What  may  be  termed  the  rational  characteris- 
tics of  these  primitive  forces  are,  first,  that  their 
phenomena  are  referable,  all  of  them,  to  some  por- 
tion of  space ;  second,  that  they  assume  fixed 
forms  under  fixed  conditions  as  ultimate  facts  in 


42  PHYSICAL    FORCES,    ETC. 

the  physical  world  ;  third,  that  they  all  involve  an 
unphenomenal  energy  which  admits  of  no  farther 
explanation ;  and,  fourth,  that  these  energies,  while 
relatively  fixed  in  form  and  permanent  in  being, 
replace  each  other  to  some  extent  under  a  law  of 
equivalence  in  an  inscrutable  way.  The  first  of 
these  characteristics  is  absolute.  Every  physical 
discussion  turns  on  facts  that  are  located,  on  forces 
that  have  points  or  lines  of  action.  The  second  is 
doubtless  equally  true,  that  causation  is  fixed  in 
the  material  world  ;  that  its  forces  are  permanent, 
and  hence  its  laws  unchangeable.  Yet  this  is  a 
fact  of  experience  which  we  cannot  fully  verify 
within  its  own  field,  and  this  field  is  narrowed  by 
the  constant  intervention  of  voluntary  power.  We 
have,  moreover,  not  only  to  accept  ultimate  quali- 
ties, like  those  of  hydrogen,  vvdthout  explanation  ; 
but  also  that  the  same  substance,  as  in  the  case  of 
oxygen,  may  assume  two  degrees  of  energy,  or,  as 
in  the  case  of  carbon,  may,  in  different  forms,  man- 
ifest very  different  sensible  qualities  ;  and  also  that 
compounds,  as  starch  and  cellulose,  of  the  same 
chemical  elements  and  of  the  same  molecular  con- 
struction, are  yet  unlike  in  appearance  and  proper- 
ties. If  we  refer  in  any  case  this  change  of  quali- 
ties to  a  change  in  the  arrangement  of  the  atoms 
within  the  molecule,  we  have  simply  added  a  new 
dividing  fact,  but  one  which  leaves  the  mystery  of 
method  in  each  case  precisely  where  it  found  it. 
We  have  also,  notwithstanding  this  permanence  of 
forces,  to  accept  as  an  apparent  fact  the  loss  of 
energy  in  the  Universe  by  the  dispersion  of  heat 
and  light. 


THEIR   CHARACTERISTICS.  43 

The  third  characteristic,  to  wit,those  ultimate  en- 
ergies to  which  we  refer  properties  and  motions,  is  a 
first  term  of  knowledge  given  by  the  mind  itself, 
and  is  that  term  by  virtue  of  which  the  whole  in- 
terplay of  mind  and  matter  is  instituted,  the  whole 
framework  of  thought  outlined.  These  molecular 
energies  are  the  conditions  of  properties,  and  so  of 
sensations.  They  thus  give  ingress  to  knowledge. 
They  also  offer  themselves  to  the  will  as  muscular 
strength,  and  so  give  egress  to  power.  They  are 
the  first  term  both  of  knowledge  and  power,  are 
the  mediums  by  which  mind,  otherwise  enclosed  in 
the  circle  of  its  own  consciousness,  is  put  into 
communion  with  a  substantial  world  exterior  to  it- 
self. These  unsearchable  energies  that  meet  the 
mind,  and  support  it  at  every  step,  in  thought  and 
work  alike,  are  the  constructive  terms  which  it  car- 
ries with  it  everywhere. 

The  fourth  characteristic,  the  limited  substitu- 
tion of  these  forces,  one  for  another,  in  equivalent 
expressions,  is  a  grand  law  of  order  and  measure- 
ment among^  the  phenomena  of  the  Universe,  yet 
this  substitution  is  as  inscrutable,  and  in  its  final 
principle  as  unphenominal,  as  the  forces  them- 
selves. Chemical  affinity,  thermal  energy,  me- 
chanical force,  are  translated  into  each  other  by  no 
interior  process  within  our  knowledge. 

Not  only  are  molecules  the  seat  of  atomic 
forces  expressed  in  physical  properties,  in  chemi- 
cal affinities,  and  in  motion,  there  also  arises  in 
crystallization  an  orderly  combination  between 
them,  which,  while  it  acts  on  and  by  single  mole- 


44  PHYSICAL   FORCES,    ETC. 

cules,  contemplates  the  general  order  of  the  pro- 
duct, and  a  variety  of  conditions  removed  from 
each  other  in  space.  The  workman  bears  the 
brick  to  its  own  place  in  the  building,  but  that 
place  has  been  assigned  it  by  a  comprehensive 
plan.  Even  gravitation,  acting  in  the  single  mole- 
cule, adjusts  its  energy  to  the  number,  amount  of 
matter,  and  distance  of  all  other  molecules.  Each 
simple  substance  that  passes  quietly  from  a  free 
state,  as  that  of  solution,  to  one  of  solidity,  has 
one  or  two  crystalline  forms  which  it  assumes  with 
the  utmost  exactness,  as  tested  by  the  measure- 
ment of  angles.  As  its  purity  is  lost  by  the  intro- 
duction of  another  element,  the  angles  of  its  crys- 
tals are  steadily  modified.  It  is  not  easy  to  under- 
stand how  the  energies  of  crystallization  can  be 
purely  molecular  forces,  since  they  seem  to  con- 
template the  entire  crystal,  and  to  be  momentarily 
affected  by  its  stages  of  structure  in  every  part. 
The  molecules  are  not  merely  laid  in  order,  as 
bricks  in  a  wall,  but  the  form  and  dimensions  of 
the  whole  work  are  operative  each  moment. 

This  is  perhaps  more  obvious  in  the  fact,  that 
broken  crystals  may  be  repaired  in  a  fresh  solu- 
tion ;  and  by  the  yet  more  observable  fact,  that  if 
one  of  the  angles  of  a  crystal  of  alum  be  cut  off, 
and  the  crystal  placed  in  the  solution  resting  on 
the  face  so  made,  a  corresponding  truncation,  as 
the  crystal  grows,  will  appear  on  the  opposite 
angle.* 

It  is  difficult  to  refer  facts  of  this  character  to 

*  Habit  and  Intelligence,  vol.  i.  p.  75. 


CRYSTALLINE   FORCES.  45 

strictly  molecular  forces,  able  only  to  control  the 
motions  of  single  molecules,  and  not  able  to  con- 
template the  final  product  ;  and  equally  difficult  is 
it  to  find  any  other  forces  that  can  take  into  con- 
sideration the  progress  of  the  entire  structure,  and 
work  toward  a  specified  form  of  symmetry  under 
specified  conditions,  and  toward  another  under 
other  conditions. 

In  the  frost-work  on  the  window-pane,  or  in  the 
tree-like  growth  of  crystals  in  solution,  we  have 
much  freer  and  more  complex  arrangements,  but 
arrangements  so  orderly  and  imitative  that  we  can- 
not refer  them  to  accident.  Some  of  the  forms 
of  vegetable  life  are  closely  followed.  A  bed  of 
cactuses  grows  up  luxuriantly  on  a  portion  of  the 
glass,  they  draw  all  the  moisture  to  themselves,  and 
leave  the  remainder  of  the  pane  clear.  Arranging 
power  is  no  more  obvious  in  the  plants  themselves 
than  in  this  mimicry  of  them.  Under  other  con- 
ditions other  forms  of  life  are  followed,  but  there 
is  always  a  discernible  tendency  toward  a  particu- 
lar pattern,  and  an  obvious  consistency  in  follow- 
ing it  out.  Thus  we  have,  before  we  reach  life, 
regular  mathematical  figure,  then  the  symmetry 
secured  by  the  conformity  of  one  angle  of  a  crys- 
tal to  the  artificial  conditions  imposed  on  another 
angle,  and  finally  a  complex  growth  of  forms  hardly 
less  free  and  beautiful  than  those  of  vegetable  life 
itself.  Vegetable  and  animal  life,  when  they  come, 
start  with  less  complexity,  less  control  of  outline, 
less  apparent  relation  than  has  already  been 
reached  in  clustering  crystals.     The  difference  be- 


46  PHYSICAL    FORCES,    ETC. 

tween  the  molecules  of  protoplasm  and  sarcode 
and  those  of  the  crystalline  solution  is  found  in 
the  fact  that  the  latter  retain  their  freedom  only  in 
a  transition  state  through  which  they  are  passing 
on  to  solidity,  while  the  former  remain  indefinitely 
active,  and  work  in  a  more  varied  way  toward  more 
remote  and  complicated  ends.  Yet  in  vegetable 
life,  and  in  large  classes  of  animal  life,  the  circu- 
lation slowly  issues  in  a  dead  heart-wood  or  dead 
coralline  stem,  or  a  dead  shell,  to  which  the  con- 
structive power  is  as  much  exterior  as  to  the  crys- 
tal. It  is  only  in  the  higher  animals  that  life  re- 
mains in  full  possession  of  its  material,  and  estab- 
lishes itself  in  every  part  in  permanent  though  by 
no  means  in  equal  activity. 

The  first  gain  of  what  we  regard  as  life  over 
crystalline  activity  is  not,  then,  in  form,  but  in  a 
freer  and  larger  interplay  of  parts.  Every  portion 
of  the  living  globule  of  sarcode  is  sentient,  and 
active  for  the  common  end  of  growth.  It  extempo- 
rizes at  any  point  the  needful  organ  ;  moves  toward, 
lays  hold  of,  absorbs  and  digests  the  required  food. 
Here,  then,  we  reach  those  living  forces  which 
in  their  variability,  adaptability,  and  reciprocal  re- 
lations to  each  other — relations  which,  if  immedi- 
ate in  time,  lie  between  objects  more  or  less  re- 
mote in  space,  and  turn  on  no  known  physical  en- 
ergies— it  is  peculiarly  difficult  to  regard  as  purely 
molecular,  since  they  are  the  means  of  controlling 
the  entire  organism,  and  are  at  every  stage  modi- 
fied by  it,  no  matter  what  dimensions  it  may 
reach. 


VEGETABLE  AND  ANIMAL  LIFE.        47 

In  the  plant,  as  in  every  living  thing,  we  have 
two  very  different  expressions  of  power  :  first,  the 
molecular  changes,  the  combinations  and  recombi- 
nations which  take  place  under  atomic  forces  in  its 
several  parts,  changes  allied  to  those  we  are  famil- 
iar with  in  matter,  and  which  have  all  along  been 
ultimate  with  us  ;  and,  second,  that  relation  of 
members  and  functions,  becoming  ever  more  com- 
plex as  we  pass  up,  by  which  the  plant  or  the  ani- 
mal is  one  organism,  having  one  interest  and  one 
life.  No  molecular  activities  suffice  to  explain  this 
order,  since  it  is  a  combination  of  these  activities 
outside  of  themselves,  a  government  imposed  upon 
them  in  reference  to  relations  exterior  to  them, 
and  momentarily  changing  with  growth.  No  mat- 
ter what  molecular  forces  we  may  attribute  to  any 
or  to  all  portions  of  the  organism,  the  guiding 
power  must  constantly  transcend  their  narrow 
sphere.  They  cannot  be  used  to  explain  life,  the 
relations  of  the  whole  to  every  part,  the  relations 
of  each  successive  organism  to  those  that  have 
gone  before  it  and  those  that  are  to  follow  it. 
Here  is  a  series  of  immediate  and  remote  depend- 
encies that  are  habitually  contemplated,  that  are 
in  some  way  effective  in  each  change,  in  each  ac- 
tion and  each  organ  each  instant,  and  so  are  not 
referable  to  primitive  or  to  fixed  molecular  forces. 
If  we  were  to  refer  these  variable  and  strangely 
extended  energies  to  molecules,  they  must  still  be 
accepted  as  something  quite  new.  The  concentra- 
tion of  these  organizing  activities  in  gemmules,  is  an 
explanation  neither  physical,  nor  conceivable,  nor 


48  PHYSICAL    FORCES,    ETC. 

empirical ;  but  one  simply  huddling  the  whole  re- 
mainder of  mystery  in  an  unknown  way  into  un- 
known things. 

But  something  of  this  same  power  of  definite 
arrangement  has  already  been  seen  in  the  frost- 
work of  a  winter's  morning.  Something  more  re- 
motely allied  to  it  is  also  found  in  the  growth  of 
the  world  as  a  whole,  in  the  nature  of  ultimate 
elements,  their  proportions,  their  union  in  devel- 
opment, and  their  slow  evolution  into  the  present 
order  and  beauty  of  the  Universe.  Ultimate  mo- 
lecular forces  do  not  explain  their  fortunate  con- 
ditions of  interaction.  We  have  not  merely  the 
definite  nature  of  each  element,  but  their  relative 
amounts  and  the  conditions  in  time  and  space 
which  make  of  the  combination  a  germ  of  order, 
the  seed  of  the  Cosmos.  The  ultimate  molecular 
forces  have  thus  a  fitness  for  each  other  and  their 
work,  which  we  cannot  overlook  ;  which,  indeed, 
is  the  greatly  significant  thing,  the  moment  we 
contemplate  the  Universe  as  a  whole,  the  moment 
the  reason  puts  its  two  great  questions,  questions 
equally  just  each  in  its  own  field — By  what  means  ? 
and  Why.? 

Here,  then,  from  the  beginning,  and  more  man- 
ifestly as  we  progress,  there  are  two  ultimate 
terms,  molecular  forces  and  combining  powers,  the 
one  as  real  as  the  other,  the  one  as  inscrutable  as 
the  other,  as  supersensible  in  final  analysis. 
Though  this  combining  power  becomes  more  ap- 
parent as  we  move  upward,  it  is  present  from  the 
beginning,  and  institutes  the  first  as  certainly  as 


PLASTIC    POWER.  49 

the  last  movement  in  world-building.  It  may  seem 
possible  to  say,  that  the  molecular  forces  exclu- 
sively construct  the  physical  world,  yet  the  precis- 
ion of  their  action,  their  variety,  their  proportions 
and  relations  to  each  other  and  their  work,  the 
most  striking  intellectual  facts  of  all,  are  over- 
looked by  this  explanation.  Some  primitive 
forces  may  also  be  brought  forward  to  explain  the 
crystal  and  the  crystal-plant,  yet  the  varying  sym- 
metries by  which  they  primarily  appeal  to  the  ra- 
tional eye  are  again  forgotten,  or  passed  slight- 
ingly by.  When  we  approach  the  plant  and  the 
animal,  with  a  constant  interplay  of  parts  and 
transmission  of  structure,  we  are  more  than  ever 
compelled  to  admit  a  constructive  and  controlling 
power,  which  in  this  domain  the  human  mind  has 
always  recognized  under  the  word,  life.  This  com- 
bining power  is  a  new,  ultimate  fact,  is  not  a  mo- 
lecular force,  but  expresses  itself  in  the  way  in 
which  these  forces  are  bent  to  wonderful  uses.  It 
is  just  as  impossible,  as  intellectually  impoverish- 
ing, to  deny  the  second  as  the  first  of  these  two 
ultimate  terms,  the  combining  powers  as  the  pri- 
mary properties,  the  subtile  oversight  as  the  con- 
structive force.  If  we  force  back  the  conception 
in  one  form  it  pushes  itself  forward  in  another  ;  if 
we  reject  life,  its  place  is  immediately  occupied  by 
"  physiological  units." 

A  stubborn  effort  has  been  made  and  is  made 
to  get  rid  of  forces,  and  replace  them  with  pure 
phenomena,  with  what  success  the  student  of  phi- 
losophy knows.     A  more  general  effort,  though  one 


50  PHYSICAL   FORCES,    ETC. 

theoretically  less  consistent,  is  made  to  escape  pre- 
siding power,  and  substitute  for  it  molecular  force. 
This  labor,  undertaken  chiefly  in  the  name  of  sci- 
ence, seems  to  us  no  more  successful  than  the 
former ;  the  only  significant  intellectual  facts,  those 
of  relation,  are  wholly  lost  or  greatly  restricted 
by  it. 

Incident  to  this  effort  is  the  idea  of  seeds  or 
germs  as  containing  in  themselves  the  typical 
forces  which  are  to  be  unfolded  in  the  plant  and 
the  animal.  Take  the  cell  or  group  of  cells 
through  which  in  transmission  the  constructive, 
hereditary  tendencies  of  any  portion  of  the  human 
race,  in  its  specific  qualities  and  individual  varia- 
tions, is  passing.  These  cells  are  almost  structure- 
less, are  in  all  sensible  qualities  the  precise  equiva- 
lents of  a  million  other  cells,  ready  in  development 
to  move  toward  every  quarter  of  the  organic  king- 
dom. With  what  incredible  latent  powers  is  such 
a  cell  gifted,  powers  that  have  been  accumulated 
by  the  modifications  of  innumerable  years,  powers 
a  portion  of  which  may  show  themselves  suddenly 
at  the  expiration  of  many  more  years !  Therein  is 
gathered  that  central  group  of  constructive  ten- 
dencies by  which  the  human  body  in  its  specific 
type,  with  its  great  variety  of  members  and  its 
complex  functions,  arising  simultaneously  and  suc- 
cessively, is  to  be  built  up ;  there  are  those  rare, 
national  and  family  traits,  and  individual  peculiari- 
ties, which  are  present  mutually  to  modify  each 
other  ;  there  are  those  immediate  and  remote  be- 
nign or  malign,  normal  or  abnormal,  inheritances, 


GERMS.  5 1 

which  have  found  their  way  into  the  line  of  descent  ; 
there  are  the  variations  of  sex,  and  of  mental  and 
physical  constitution  as  modified  by  sex,  waiting 
to  be  transmitted,  as  the  case  may  be,  through  the 
same  or  the  opposite  sex ;  and  there  also  are  those 
'  recuperative  and  repairing  powers  that  are  to  strike 
in  at  any  time,  as  disease  or  accident  may  give 
them  occasion.  The  river  that  in  full  volume 
flows  through  the  valley  has  not  collected  its 
waters,  drop  by  drop,  from  so  many  or  so  remote 
places.  Nor  is  this  all  ;  by  evolution  we  trace 
back  these  cells  to  more  primitive  cells,  and  these 
to  others,  till  one  cell  may  theoretically  contain  the 
latent  powers  expressed  in  the  entire  organic 
world.  All  the  rivers  of  the  globe  are  thus  found 
flowing  through  the  eye  of  a  needle.  Yet,  press- 
ing the  evolution  one  step  farther  back,  this  won- 
derful susceptibility  condensed  in  the  parent  germ, 
those  innumerable  realized  tendencies  expressed  in 
subsequent  germs,  all  come  forth  from  the  inor- 
ganic nebulous  mass,  the  seed  of  our  present  solar 
system  in  its  multiplicity  of  development,  its  rich- 
ness of  actual  and  potential  life. 

We  must  deny  to  this  doctrine  of  germs,  as 
containing  in  themselves  as  latent  forces  the  re- 
sults that  flow  from  them,  any  power  of  rational 
explanation.  Such  germs  are  beyond  all  analogy, 
as  there  is  nothing  in  our  experience  which  gives 
any  suggestion  of  their  construction,  or  of  any 
such  complexity  of  latent  forces.  The  nearest  ap- 
proach to  it  is  perhaps  the  number  of  mechanical 
transmissions  of  force  which  can  be  impressed  on 


52  PHYSICAL   FORCES,    ETC. 

a  large  body  of  air  or  water  ;  but  these  forces  are 
of  one  kind,  and  really  afford  neither  the  imagina- 
tion nor  the  judgment  any  help.  If  we  return  to 
our  cell,  we  are  not  merely  utterly  unable  to  under- 
stand how  such  an  infinity  of  forces  can  possibly 
lie  compressed  within  it,  we  are  equally  unable  to 
understand  how  they  came  there,  or  being  there 
can  do  the  work  assigned  them.  How  can  molec- 
ular forces,  acting  within  their  own  narrow 
sphere,  control  a  bulky  organism,  superintend  its 
construction,  and  be  cognizant  of  the  passing  con- 
ditions of  its  every  part  .'*  Do  such  primitive  cells 
in  multiplication  impart  their  entire  force  to  kin- 
dred cells  .?  or  do  they  divide  it  with  them  ?  If 
they  divide  and  subdivide  it,  it  must  be  quickly 
lost ;  if  they  impart  it  entire,  then  new  forces  of 
the  most  wonderful  kind  are  being  momentarily 
created,  or  are  being  taken  directly  out  of  the  en- 
vironment of  physical  forces.  Either  the  law  of 
causation  fails,  since  from  one  cell  comes  many 
equally  endowed  cells :  or  physical  forces  can  yield 
directly  any  combination  whatever  of  vital  tenden- 
cies. If  one  cell  or  a  few  cells  are  the  medium  of 
this  transfer,  how  do  they  control  other  cells  or 
other  molecules  }  If  all  are  the  medium  of  the 
same  powers,  how  does  each  fall  into  its  own  place, 
selecting  from  among  its  functions  the  one  which 
is  for  the  moment  in  order  .'*  The  notion  of  germs 
and  seeds,  as  the  transition  points  of  all  the  patent 
and  latent  constructive  powers  of  the  vegetable 
and  animal  kingdoms,  is,  in  whatever  way  we  con- 
sider it,  unintelligible,  burdened  with  an  amazing 


PANGENESIS.  53 

complexity  of  suppositions  and  inadequacy  of  re- 
sults. The  only  fact  that  sustains  it  is,  that  cer- 
tain causes  are  assigned  to  certain  effects,  but 
causes  that  are  united  to  their  effects  by  no  known 
analogy. 

This  notion  of  germs  as  the  medium  of  trans- 
mitted tendencies  has  been  taken  up  with  very  lit- 
tle effort  to  make  it  clear,  or  to  use  it  otherwise 
than  as  an  obscure  ultimate  term  taking  a  position 
that  was  left  void  to  the  thought  by  the  denial  of 
life.  As  an  ultimate,  unanalyzed  factor,  the  chief 
question  concerning  it  is.  Which  is  the  more  ra- 
tional reference  of  combining,  harmonizing  power, 
to  matter  or  to  mind,  to  a  visible  presence  of  forces 
which  yet  do  visibly  no  part  of  the  work  that  falls 
to  them,  or  to  an  invisible  power  akin  to  its  invisi- 
ble functions  ?  To  the  question  so  put,  reason,  it 
seems  to  us,  has  but  one  answer. 

The  facts  of  inheritance  have  given  occasion  to 
an  effort  to  conceive  more  definitely  this  process 
of  transmission.  The  most  plausible  and  fully  de- 
veloped of  the  theories  of  heredity  is  that  of  pan- 
genesis, presented  by  Darwin  and  enlarged  by  oth- 
ers. The  substance  of  the  theory  is  this :  The 
fertilized  ovum,  which  is  the  same  in  its  character- 
istics in  all  Mammalia,  and,  though  containing 
much  of  mere  nutriment,  is  packed  into  a  space 
not  exceeding  the  size  of  the  head  of  a  pin,  holds 
the  separate  gemmules  which  represent  the  con- 
trolling forces  that  are  to  build  up  all  the  different 
parts  of  the  body,  to  rebuild  them  if  need  be,  to 
induce  in  them  at  every  stage  of  development  in 


54  PHYSICAL    FORCES,    ETC. 

each  generation  and  in  successive  generations 
every  different  phase  of  activity  due  to  inherit- 
ance, and  to  receive  and  store  up  all  tendencies 
that  may  be  newly  established.* 

The  specific  organization  of  each  animal  and 
its  individual  characteristics  are  referred  to  gem- 
mules,  which  hold  their  functions  latent,  or  exer- 
cise and  transmit  them  according  to  forces  and 
affinities  of  their  own.  Thus  we  put  back  of  one 
combination,  the  human  body,  another  combina- 
tion equally  marvelous,  that  of  gemmules  in  an 
ovum,  and  call  this  explanation,  when  our  second 
term  has  no  advantage  over  our  first  term  except 
that  of  being  infinitesimal.  The  tendency  is  iden- 
tical with  that  by  which  we  put  forces  as  real  be- 
ing under  phenomena,  and  then  in  the  imagination 
strive  to  rehabilitate  them  as  phenomena,  and  thus 
put  a  second  layer  of  like  facts  under  our  first 
layer.  So  in  science  we  play  over  and  over  again 
the  old  mythology.  Everything  is  heaped  on  the 
back  of  a  turtle,  and  the  turtle  left  to  shift  for 
itself. 

Such  is  the  theory,  and  it  is  something  every 
way  wonderful.  That  must  be  a  difficult  subject 
to  which  it  brings  any  relief.  It  is  a  theory  purely 
theoretical ;  it  has  in  facts  no  starting  points.  We 
do  not  know  of  the  existence  of  any  such  things 
as  gemmules.  Our  ultimate  chemical  analysis  of 
organic  substances  yields  molecules  and  atoms  of 
known  properties,  and  our  synthesis  complex  mole- 
cules, but  neither  discloses  any  gemmules  or  any 

*  Contemporary  Review,  Dec.  1875. 


GEMMULES.  55 

properties  allied  to  those  ascribed  to  them.  In 
tracing  the  organic  process  itself  we  reach  the 
ovum  as  its  first  term,  but  find  in  it  no  hint  of  far- 
ther organisms,  of  gemmules. 

But  this  hypothesis  not  only  rests  on  no  known 
facts,  it  is  startlingly  complex,  and  becomes  rap- 
idly more  so  at  each  step.  We  are  disposed  to  lay 
no  great  stress  on  the  conceivable  and  the  incon- 
ceivable—  inconceivability  may  or  may  not  consti- 
tute an  objection  —  but  certainly  the  extraordinary 
and  the  complex  reflect,  according  to  their  degree, 
improbability  on  a  theory,  and  in  this  theory  they 
exist  in  the  highest  measure.  Moreover,  the 
growth  of  the  theory  is  as  surreptitious  as  its  in- 
ception. New  qualities  and  fresh  conditions  are 
added  without  stint  to  the  gemmules,  as  a  need  for 
them  is  felt,  and  so  the  halting  explanation  is 
helped  forward  one  stage  more.  Words  are  added 
to  words,  and  when  we  have  finished  we  have 
nothing  but  words  on  which  to  repose  our  faith. 
We  have  surrounded  our  facts  by  a  scaffolding  of 
purely  a  priori  conceptions. 

Nor  can  the  theory,  with  all  its  constructive 
license,  give  plausibility  to  its  conclusions.  It  is 
not  at  all  plain  how  these  gemmules,  if  we  grant 
them  to  exist  in  incredible  numbers  and  with  an 
exhaustless  variety  of  tendencies,  can  do  their 
work.  Let  us  make  the  supposition  that  we  have 
a  brick  building  to  construct,  to  be  made  of  many 
thousand  bricks,  and  bricks  of  very  many  patterns. 
We  have  sample  bricks  of  each  of  these  kinds  as 
our  constructive  material.     With  what  properties 


56  PHYSICAL   FORCES,   ETC. 

must  we  endow  them  in  order  that  they  may  go 
forward  with  the  construction  ?  First,  they  must 
be  able  to  multiply  themselves  indefinitely  ;  sec- 
ondly, they  must  be  able  to  put  themselves  in  the 
right  place,  and  bring  forward  their  various  forms 
at  the  right  instant;  thirdly,  in  order  to  accomplish 
this,  they  must  in  some  way  have  an  oversight  of 
the  entire  structure,  and  so  comprehend  its  every 
stage  and  every  exigency. 

Now  no  mere  atomic  forces,  acting  blindly  from 
local  centres,  can  do  any  such  work.  Our  bricks 
must  be  made  intelligent,  for  they  have  before 
them  that  elaborate  combination  of  parts  which  is 
the  distinctive  work  of  intelligence.  But  our  sup- 
position is  incomparably  less  complex  than  that  in- 
volved in  the  construction  of  the  human  race,  man 
by  man,  through  the  agency  of  gemmules.  Here 
no  two  parts  are  identical  in  structure,  functions 
and  relations,  while  these  relations  shift  at  each 
transfer  in  slight  ways  and  decisive  ways,  in  ob- 
scure ways  and  subtile  ways,  and  are  by  the  whole 
movement  resolved  into  a  perpetual  flux,  whose 
immediate  and  remote  terms  momentarily  affect 
each  other  in  lines  of  causation  quite  too  deep  for 
physics. 

When,  therefore,  the  theory  of  pangenesis 
talks  about  affinities  among  gemmules  as  a  means 
of  explaining  the  movements,  the  moments  and 
the  proportions  of  activities,  the  relations  of  parts 
and  parts,  functions  and  functions,  growths  and 
growths  to  each  other  in  a  race  like  that  of  man,  it 
is  simply  surrounding  atoms  with  a  halo  of  light. 


SUPERVISION    NOT   ATOMIC.  5/ 

with  intelligent  powers,  in  order  that  matter  in 
molecules,  in  a  way  wholly  alien  to  our  experience 
of  it  in  masses,  may  do  the  work  of  mind.  We 
retreat  with  our  suppositions  into  infinitesimals, 
and  so  escape  contradiction.  In  this  region  we 
know  nothing  and  may  assume  everything.  Prop- 
erties of  which  we  find  no  trace  in  the  aggregate 
we  fearlessly  assign  to  the  atom. 

The  powers  we  do  assign  are  not  in  their  na- 
ture atomic,  they  are  those  of  supervision,  those  of 
intelligence.  Which,  then,  is  the  simpler  supposi- 
tion, the  one- most  accordant  with  experience  in  its 
own  range,  that  thought,  pervasive,  spiritual  power 
does  this  work  of  thought  ?  or  that  matter,  when 
it  sinks  below  the  range  of  the  senses,  is  endowed 
with  tendencies  purely  intellectual  in  their  func- 
tions ?  By  such  a  supposition  we  sponge  out  the 
first  dividing  lines  of  knowledge ;  mind  and  mat- 
ter flow  into  each  other ;  we  belittle  our  construc- 
tive thought,  and  destroy  its  work  thus  far. 

The  conception,  on  the  other  hand,  of  a  spirit- 
ual presence  which  uses  and  combines  the  atomic 
forces  of  the  world  is  in  strict  harmony  with  our 
experience.  Our  own  minds,  without  appearing 
among  the  physical  forces  of  the  body  as  a  part  of 
them,  do  in  some  inscrutable  way  control  them  for 
their  own  ends,  and  make  them  minister  to  a  ra- 
tional life.  As  our  spirits  are  the  inspiration  of 
our  bodies,  so  may  "  the  lives,"  the  Supreme  Spir- 
itual Power  in  its  divided  yet  concurrent  action,  be 
the  inspiration  and  overshadowing  power  of  the 
physical  world.     We,  at  least,  must  reject  germs 


58  PHYSICAL    FORCES,    ETC. 

as  either  the  mediate  or  ultimate  fountains  of  the 
wisdom  of  the  world.  The  streams  of  thought  do 
not  for  us  deepen  into  perennial  springs  as  we 
press  inward  toward  the  secret  recesses  of  physical 
forces.  These  mountains,  high  and  grand  as  they 
are,  yield  nothing  but  dust  save  as  they  are  rained 
on  by  the  heavens  above  them.  Life  is  not  force, 
it  is  combining  power ;  it  is  not  local,  it  is  perva- 
sive ;  it  is  not  the  emanation  of  matter,  but  the 
product  and  presence  of  mind. 

If  agreement  with  experience  is  any  test  of  a 
theory,  then  the  supposition  of  an  intelligent  pow- 
er in  the  world  has  a  decisive  advantage  over  any 
theory  of  quasi  intelligent  matter.  By  the  suppo- 
sition of  a  Supreme  Spiritual  Presence  we  trans- 
cend our  experience  at  one  point  only.  We  as- 
sume that  the  Divine  Mind  can  work  in  matter 
without  the  intervention  of  a  nervous  system,  that 
spiritual  power  can  be  distributed  without  these 
conditions  of  distribution  peculiar  to  us.  It  is  a 
favorite  accusation  of  the  scientist  against  theol- 
ogy, that  it  is  intolerably  anthropomorphic  in  its 
methods.  Is  not  the  scientist  intolerably  anthro- 
pomorphic in  his  methods,  when  he  will  not  be- 
lieve in  a  Spiritual  Presence  in  the  world  because 
there  are  no  visible  cerebrum,  cerebellum  and  me- 
dulla oblongata  t  Simplicity  and  experience  are 
with  those  who  leave  with  matter  its  fixed,  atomic 
forces,  and  with  mind  its  combining,  supervisory 
power ;  who  distinguish  substance  and  form,  mate- 
rial and  purpose,  matter  and  mind,  and  put  them 
as  first  terms  of  thought  in  eternal  interplay. 


CONSTRUCTIVE    TERMS.  59 

It  is  incident  to  our  lives  as  finite  that  their 
powers  should  be  conditioned,  and  these  conditions 
rest  back  on  this  point,  a  nervous  system,  whose 
resources  are  quickly  exhausted.  Moreover,  mat- 
ter is  necessarily  to  us,  as  dependent  beings, 
wholly  foreign  ;  its  activities  are  another's  activi- 
ties. In  neither  of  these  respects  is  the  Supreme 
Intelligence  in  our  image  ;  and  while  we  securely 
reason  from  agreements  to  agreements,  from  intel- 
ligence to  intelligence,  we  justly  allow  to  enter 
those  differences  of  relation  to  the  Universe  about 
us  which  must  so  plainly  lie  between  the  finite  and 
the  Infinite.  The  absence  of  all  analogy  snaps  the 
threads  of  thought.  So  is  it  everywhere.  The 
literalist  and  the  supersensualist  can  neither  pros- 
per. If  we  make  ourselves  the  slaves  of  experi- 
ence, our  reasoning  will  either  be  servile  or  fugi- 
tive ;  it  can  never  be  bold,  sound  and  free ;  it  can 
never  be  broadly  rational. 

We  start,  then,  our  cosmic,  constructive  pro- 
cesses with  two  elements,  forces  whose  first  mani- 
festation is  in  space,  and  which  testify  to  their  own 
external  and  permanent  being  by  their  transient 
phenomena  in  consciousness  ;  and  powers  which 
control  and  combine  these  forces  ;  powers  which 
are  addressed  to  the  intellect  by  instituting  those 
relations  which  are  the  hidden  meaning,  the  true 
significance,  of  the  language  of  phenomena.  Nei- 
ther of  these  offer  themselves  as  intelligence,  but 
are  the  products  of  an  Intelligence  that  abides 
back  of  and  above  them  both. 

The  Supreme  Intelligence  accepts  at  once  in 


60  PHYSICAL   FORCES,    ETC. 

its  products  the  laws  and  conditions  of  reason, 
both  because  it  itself  is  rational,  and  because  it  ad- 
dresses itself  to  that  coming  intelligence  which  is 
the  fulness  of  the  creative  process.  Hence  forces 
as  fixed  material  take  on  themselves  a  variety  of 
laws,  that  is,  they  submit  themselves  as  fixed  prem- 
ises to  the  coherent  ends  and  uses  of  the  reason 
that  called  them  forth.  The  living,  plastic  powers 
also,  though  moving  toward  variable  and  enlarging 
ends,  accept  the  limiting  conditions  of  reason 
which  press  in  upon  them,  as,  resting  backward, 
they  stand  in  the  relation  of  results  to  previous 
circumstances,  or,  pushing  forward,  they  become 
means  to  farther  ends. 

Both  forces  and  powers  are  ultimately  referable 
to  a  Supreme  Intelligence,  and,  moving  onward  in 
evolution,  make  conquests  and  give  conditions  for 
those  grades  of  finite  intelligence  which  constitute 
the  kingdom  of  conscious  life.  We  need,  then,  in 
rising  step  by  step,  till  we  have  mounted  the  stylo- 
bate  on  which  our  spiritual  temple  rests,  to  see 
how  these  foundations  of  intelligence  have  been 
laid,  what  are  its  conditions,  what  has  been  given 
us  by  anticipation  in  forces  and  what  in  powers, 
that  we  may  afterward  see  with  what  resources  the 
first  germs  of  conscious  life  are  occupied,  and  how, 
from  stage  to  stage  and  mastery  to  mastery,  it 
climbs  up  to  its  present  position  in  man,  while  still 
reaching  down  in  direct  influence  to  the  primitive, 
physical  facts  of  the  world.  We  now,  in  our  dis- 
cussion, pass  on  to  life  ;  and  though  we  have  as 
yet  caught  no  light  of   consciousness,  no  single 


PHYSICAL    LAWS.  6 1 

spark  of  intelligence  struck  out  of  the  flinty  mate- 
rial about  us,  we  have,  in  the  material  itself,  the 
rapidly  accumulating  conditions  of  an  associative 
and  a  rational  experience,  when  consciousness  and 
reason  shall  at  length  offer  themselves. 

Every  step  of  development,  without  containing 
the  next  step,  contains  the  conditions  which  pre- 
pare the  way  for  it.  The  whole  thus  becomes  a 
growth,  whose  internal  forces  are  watched  over  and 
nourished  by  a  spiritual  environment. 


f  L  I  n  R  A  II  \ 

UNiVKl>s[T\     (,K 

V  CAJJFoiiXlA.    . 


CHAPTER    III. 

VE  GET A  BLE     LIFE. 

It  is  not  necessary  for  us  to  discuss  farther  the 
nature  of  life.  Whatever  that  nature  may  be, 
whether  life  is  simply  a  vague  word  by  which  we 
indicate  certain  complicated  combinations  of  phys- 
ical forces,  set  up  in  their  strange  equilibrations  by 
an  activity  of  their  own  ;  or  whether  we  regard  it 
as  an  inborn  presence,  a  plastic  power  by  which 
such  combinations  are  secured,  maintained  and 
carried  forward,  it  stands,  in  either  case,  for  cer- 
tain facts,  the  same  to  all ;  for  processes  which 
have  a  scope  and  harmony  and  laws  of  their  own. 
It  is  not  our  purpose  to  give  anything  like  a  com- 
plete statement  of  the  functions  covered,  in  the 
vegetable  kingdom,  by  the  word  life,  but  only  to 
direct  attention  to  some  of  those  salient  features 
which  will  serve  to  impress  upon  us  afresh  the 
number,  variety  and  subtile  character  of  those 
powers  that  we  carry  up  with  us  in  passing  from 
vegetable  to  animal  life.  Kindred  activities  we 
may  suppose  to  have  a  kindred  source  in  both 
kingdoms.  Any  explanations  we  may  later  bring 
to  the  faculties  of  animals  should  be  in  harmony 


ACTIVITY    OF    THE    LEAF.  63 

with  what  we  meet  with  lower  down  ;  should  fully 
embrace  the  large  initial  terms  which  we  bring 
with  us  in  coming  up  to  the  higher  realm  from  the 
region  of  purely  vegetative  activity.  Processes, 
the  counterparts  of  those  we  find  in  plants,  do  not 
in  animals  call  for  any  new  reference  ;  nor  demand 
for  their  solution  a  conscious,  intellectual  exist- 
ence. Whatever  is  to  be  ascribed  to  intelligence 
must,  as  a  whole,  lie  beyond  that  already  referred 
to  vegetative  life. 

The  chemical  laboratory  of  the  entire  organic 
world  is  the  green  tissue  of  plants,  more  especially 
their  leaves.  Here  inorganic  material  is  turned 
into  organic  material,  the  food  of  plants  and  ani- 
mals, and  this  witl^  a  large  consumption  of  force. 
The  process  is  one  of  extended  deoxidation,  and 
hence  one  which  takes  up  and  stores  in  the  pro- 
duct all  the  energy  which  may  afterward  be  given 
out  in  its  reoxidation,  either  as  food  or  as  fuel. 
This  chemical  activity  of  the  leaf,  which  is  im- 
mense in  itself,  and  of  most  immediate  interest  to 
all  living  things,  is  that  termed  by  Sachs  assimila- 
tion.* By  it  inorganic  material  is  transformed 
into  high  organic  compounds,  holding  in  their  mo- 
bile structure  a  large  reserve  of  force,  enabling 
them  afterward  to  pass  by  easy  metamorphosis  into 
other  vegetable  and  animal  products.  They  thus 
become  the  material  of  every  constructive,  organic 
process  in  plants  and  in  animals.  In  metamorpho- 
sis they  yield  new  material,  in  degradation  new 
force.     Thus  the  first  and  by  far  the  greatest  or- 

*  Text-book  of  Botany,  p.  626. 


64  VEGETABLE    LIFE. 

ganizing  labor,  as  regards  the  energies  employed, 
goes  forward  in  the  leaf.  It  is  that  by  which  the 
material  for  all  the  various  forms  of  growth  is  fur- 
nished, material  already  of  so  facile  a  character, 
the  storehouse  of  such  forces,  that  it  can  in  one  or 
other  of  its  forms  pass  into  all  the  compounds  of 
the  plant  and  animal,  itself  furnishing  in  the  tran- 
sition the  energy  expended.  'The  reserve  mate- 
rials stored  up  in  different  seeds,  tubers,  bulbs,  the 
starch,  the  various  kinds  of  sugar,  inuline  and  oil, 
are  of  the  same  physiological  value,  inasmuch  as 
these  substances  can  replace  each  other  in  the  for- 
mation of  new  organs,  and  also  furnish  the  supply 
for  a  variety  of  substances  found  during  growth, 
such  as  vegetable  acids,  tannin,  coloring  matter.'* 
The  formative  materials  of  the  *plant  and  so  of  the 
animal,  starch,  sugar,  inuline,  the  fats,  the  albumin- 
oids, receive  their  constructive  character  in  the 
leaf,  they  then  pass  freely  into  other  organic  pro- 
ducts, partially  replacing  each  other  in  the  process. 
This  constant  transfer  between  organic  compounds 
is  termed  by  Sachs  metastasis.  It  is  secondary 
to  assimilation,  which  with  him  means  the  raising 
of  inorganic  to  organic  material. 

Assimilation,  the  primitive  member  of  the  en- 
tire process,  takes  place  exclusively  in  the  green 
tissue  of  the  plant.  Its  two  conditions  are  chloro- 
phyl  and  sunlight.  The  plant  alone — we  are  not, 
however,  speaking  of  any  partial  action  of  the  low- 
est forms  of  animal  life — yields  these  delicate  con- 
ditions under  which  sunlight  employs  its  immense 

*  Text-book  of  Botany,  p.  629. 


CIRCULAR    MOVEMENT.  65 

energy,  and  rapidly  furnishes  the  material  of  all 
growth.  We  are  simply  to  observe  the  delicacy, 
the  energy,  the  inscrutability,  the  self-perpetuating 
character  of  this  vegetable  activity  by  which  all 
the  organic  activities  of  the  world  are  maintained. 
Without  chlorophyl  there  is  no  growth ;  the  sun- 
light, that  noiseless  cataract  of  force,  descends  in 
vain ;  there  are  no  conditions  for  receiving  and 
storing  its  energy.  Yet  chlorophyl  is  itself  the 
product  of  this  very  process,  a  process,  therefore, 
which  infolds  its  own  conditions,  and  is  recipro- 
cally interdependent  in  every  portion  of  it.  The 
relation  of  the  seed  to  the  plant  and  of  the  plant 
to  the  seed,  each  begetting  and  each  begotten,  is 
thus  a  typical  fact.  We  have  at  once  a  self-suffi- 
cient circular  movement,  whose  point  of  produc- 
tion we  cannot  indicate.  This  simple  orbit  of  rev- 
olution found  everywhere  in  the  vegetable  king- 
dom, with  the  ten  thousand  distinct  forms  it  as- 
sumes and  steadily  maintains  ;  this  institution  in 
every  vegetable  product  of  so  difficult  and  wonder- 
ful and  wonderfully  varied  a  process,  is  our  first 
term  in  organic  life.  We  have  from  the  outset  a 
complex  balance  of  functions  sustaining  them- 
selves by  motion,  by  perpetual  interchange. 

But  not  only  does  the  plant  offer  in  the  leaf 
these  exceptional  conditions  under  which  sunlight 
can  build  up  organic  compounds,  in  a  way  so  free, 
and  in  amounts  so  large,  it  maintains  these  condi- 
tions as  incident  in  each  case  to  a  complete  system 
of  growth,  and  one  which  involves  a  constant  me- 
tastatis  of  formative  material  into  a  great  variety 

5 


66  VEGETABLE   LIFE. 

of  permanent  products  which  together  constitute 
the  plant.  Though  the  physical  energy  expended 
in  this  metamorphosis  may  be  furnished  by  the 
compounds  themselves,  the  conditions  under  which 
it  takes  place  in  their  great  complexity,  and  the 
ends  to  which  it  is  made  subservient  in  their  great 
variety,  are  maintained  in  each  plant  by  its  own 
specific,  organic  power.  The  peculiar  thing  in 
each  is,  the  relation  to  each  other  and  to  the  whole 
of  these  transformations;  and  this  organizing 
movement,  though  narrow,  is  in  itself  as  complete 
in  the  vegetable  as  it  is  in  the  animal.  This  pre- 
cise combination  of  precise  functions  in  a  specific 
living  thing  expresses  at  once  a  thoroughly  organic 
power,  and  receives  enlargement,  not  displacement 
in  the  animal  kingdom.  The  confining  of  organic 
processes  in  the  animal  to  metastasis,  the  dropping 
away  of  the  contrasted  power  of  assimilation,  in 
some  respects  the  greater  of  the  two,  is  but  one 
of  many  illustrations  of  the  intimate  way  in  which 
the  higher  development  is  built  out  of  and  on  the 
lower  one,  and  of  the  manner  in  which  a  higher 
movement  modifies  a  lower  and  avails  itself  of  it, 
while  reserving  its  own  functions  in  an  untrammeled 
way  to  itself.  The  freedom  in  motion  and  in  the 
conditions  of  growth  in  the  animal  kingdom  is 
due  largely  to  the  fact  that  the  immediate  material 
of  growth  is  furnished  to  it,  not  manufactured  by 
it.  The  animal  prospers  where  the  plant  would 
perish,  as  it  is  comparatively  independent  of  light 
and  external  heat. 

Incident  to  the  growth  of  the  plant  is  the  con- 


CIRCULATION.  6/ 

stant  transfer  of  constructive  material,  is  circula- 
tion. The  water  and  the  crude  ingredients  of  the 
sap  are  taken  in  at  the  root.  This  sap  is  trans- 
ferred to  the  leaf,  or  other  green  tissue  of  the 
plant,  and  there  by  assimilation  laden  with  con- 
structive material.  So  enriched  it  is  ultimately 
taken  to  the  surfaces  of  growth,  in  exogenous 
plants  to  the  cambium  layer.  If  this  circuit  were 
a  direct  one,  distinct  fluids  passing  by  distinct 
channels  to  their  destination,  it  would  still  be  inex- 
plicable. But  it  is  very  far  from  being  a  simple 
circulation.  If  we  take  a  single  tree,  as  a  maple, 
to  guide  our  conceptions,  we  shall  see  that  the 
points  of  ingress  through  the  roots  are  many  and 
widely  scattered,  the  leaves  to  which  the  sap  is 
transferred  are  alike  numerous  and  broadly  distrib- 
uted, while  the  cambium  layer,  where  the  work  of 
construction  goes  on,  envelops  the  entire  tree. 
In  this  circulation  there  is  only  a  partial  specializa- 
tion of  office,  the  same  cells  are  the  channels  of 
movement  in  various  directions,  and  for  various 
material. 

"  There  is  a  peculiar  motion  of  circulation  of 
the  fluid  contents  of  every  living  cell  called  cyclo- 
sis  or  rotation  of  sap,  and  there  is  a  general  move- 
ment of  fluids  upward  and  downward  in  the  entire 
plant  which  may  be  named  circulation  of  sap."  * 
This  irregular  transfer  of  sap  largely  through  the 
same  cells  between  these  irregular  series  of  points 
or  surfaces  for  constructive  purposes  would  be 
curious  enough  and  inexplicable  enough,  even  if  it 

*  Prof.  Henfrey,  Agriculture  of  Mass.,  73-4,  p.  177. 


6S  VEGETABLE    LIFE. 

were  constant  and  expressed  all  the  facts.  But  it 
is  not  constant.  Very  much  constructive  mate- 
rial is  reserved  in  the  sap  and  elsewhere  for  long 
periods,  and,  when  the  exigency  of  use  arises,  is 
brought  rapidly  forward.  There  is  thus  within  the 
larger  circuit,  or  incidental  to  it,  a  great  deal  of 
circulation  which  does  not  contemplate  an  imme- 
diate want  of  the  plant,  which  is  not  driven  for- 
ward by  the  changes  incident  to  a  constructive 
process  actually  going  forward.  Sap  is  returned 
to  the  root,  and  is  reserved  in  various  parts  of  the 
tree,  and  produced  at  once  on  occasion.  Thus  this 
affair  of  transfers  in  the  plant  becomes  exceed- 
ingly complex,  and  when  we  contemplate  it  as 
leading  to  well-ordered  and  uniform  results  in  each 
species,  exceedingly  wonderful.  Moreover,  these 
results  r.re  by  no  means  the  same  in  different  spe- 
cies. The  oak  puts  forth  tremendous  energies 
when  it  wakes  up  in  growth,  and  in  a  few  days  out- 
lines and  largely  completes  the  work  of  the  season. 
Other  trees,  like  the  willow,  toil  slowly,  and  devote 
the  whole  season  to  growth.  The  maple  has  times 
when  the  sap  is  at  flood  and  goes  streaming 
through  its  channels,  and  also  times  of  inaction 
when  its  sluggish  currents  scarcely  creep  on  their 
way.  This  activity  is  not  provoked  by  any  growth 
of  the  buds,  but  helps  itself  to  determine  their 
growth. 

The  forces  that  are  relied  on  to  explain  this  im- 
mense and  spasmodic  work  of  circulation  are  not 
sufficient  for  their  purpose.  This  point  is  dis- 
tinctly put  and  vigorously  supported  in  the  paper 


FORCES    INVOLVED.  69 

by  Pres.  Clarke,  already  referred  to  in  the  Agricul- 
tural Reports  of  Massachusetts.  Yet  the  opposite 
statement  is  generally  made,  and  by  high  authori- 
ties. Says  Sachs :  "  This  much  appears  certain 
that  the  ultimate  forces  concerned  are  always  cap- 
illarity and  diffusion — in  the  broadest  sense  of  the 
term  "  * 

But  these  two  forces  signally  fail  to  account  for 
the  well-ordered  issue  of  the  circulation,  for  the 
way  in  which  it  adapts  itself  both  to  the  immedi- 
ate and  the  remote  wants  of  the  plant,  for  its  fitful, 
irregular  movement  in  the  same  plant,  for  its  spe- 
cific types  of  movement  in  different  plants.  We 
believe  that  they  also  fail  to  sufficiently  explain  the 
fact  of  a  single  hour  in  the  circulation  of  a  single 
tree,  as  a  rock  maple  or  a  black  birch,  looked  at 
simply  as  a  process  of  mechanical  transfer.  We 
must  recognize,  therefore,  first,  an  organic,  plastic 
power  of  some  sort,  no  matter  what  we  call  it,  ex- 
pressed by  the  order  of  the  whole  movement  in  its 
complicated  interplay  toward  a  single  end,  the 
growth  of  the  plant.  And  we  must  also  seek,  sec- 
ondly, for  more  elementary  forces  than  these  two  of 
capillary  attraction  and  diffusion,  in  order  to  fur- 
nish the  energies  directly  active  in  circulation. 
The  first  of  these  needs,  that  for  permanent  or- 
ganic power,  all  the  facts,  looked  at  in  any  wise, 
collective  way,  emphasize  ;  the  second,  that  for 
elementary  forces,  other  than  the  two  mentioned, 
is  supported  by  various  considerations,  by  the  ease 
with  which  a  sucker  in  a  root  will  change  the  cir- 

*  Text-book  of  Botany,  p.  601. 


70  VEGETABLE    LIFE. 

dilation,  and  draw  its  nourishment  either  upward 
from  the  portion  below  it,  or  downward  from  the 
parts  above  it ;  by  the  surprising  force  with  which 
the  sap  is  at  times  driven  upward  in  the  tree,  and 
yet  the  almost  immediate  cessation  or  reversal 
even  of  this  power  ;  by  the  fact  that  a  root  wholly 
severed  from  the  parent  stem  will  impel  the  sap 
outward  at  the  section  with  great  energy,  though 
there  is  no  such  loss  of  sap  at  the  extremities  of 
the  roots  by  a  circulation  in  the  opposite  direction ; 
and  by  the  extraordinary  difference  between  trees 
similarly  situated,  in  the  times  of  the  flow  of  sap, 
in  the  amount  of  the  flow,  and  in  bleeding  at 
wounds.  These  and  like  facts  show  a  variety  and 
discrimination  in  results  hardly  to  be  attributed  to 
such  general  and  uniform  forces  as  capillarity  and 
diffusion.  We  will  give  a  very  few  of  the  many 
experiments  of  Pres.  Clarke  to  illustrate  the  vigor 
and  decision  of  movement  in  the  circulation  of 
sap. 

"  A  gauge  was  attached  to  a  sugar-maple 
March  31st.  The  mercury  was  subject  to  con- 
stant and  singular  oscillations,  standing  usually  in 
the  morning  below  zero,  so  that  there  was  indi- 
cated a  powerful  suction  into  the  tree,  and  rising 
rapidly  with  the  sun  until  the  force  indicated  was 
sufficient  to  sustain  a  column  of  water  many  feet 
high.  Thus,  at  6  a.  m.  April  21st,  there  was  a  suc- 
tion into  the  tree  sufficient  to  raise  a  column  of 
water  25.95  feet.  As  soon  as  the  morning  sun 
shone  upon  the  tree  the  mercury  suddenly  began 
to  rise,  so  that  at  8. 1 5  a.  m.  the  pressure  outward 


CIRCULATION.  7 1 

was  enough  to  sustain  a  column  of  water  18.47 
feet  in  height,  a  change  represented  by  more  than 
44  feet  of  water.  On  the  morning  of  April  22d 
the  change  was  still  greater,  requiring  for  its  rep- 
resentation 47.42  feet  of  water.  These  extraordi- 
nary fluctuations  were  not  attended  by  any  pecu- 
liar state  of  the  weather,  and  happened  twelve 
days  before  there  were  any  indications  of  growth 
to  be  detected  in  the  buds."  *  "  On  the  20th  of 
April  two  gauges  were  attached  to  a  large  black 
birch,  one  at  the  ground  and  the  other  thirty  feet 
higher.  The  next  morning  at  6  o'clock  the  lower 
gauge  indicated  the  astonishing  pressure  of  56.65 
feet  of  water,  and  the  upper  one  of  26.74  feet. 
The  difference  between  the  indications  of  the  two 
gauges  was  thus  29.92  feet,  while  the  actual  dis- 
tance between  them  was  30.20  feet,  so  that  they 
corresponded  almost  precisely  as  if  connected  by 
a  tube.  In  order  to  learn  if  the  same  principle 
would  prevail,  if  the  upper  gauge  was  moved,  it 
was  raised  twelve  feet  higher.  The  same  corre- 
spondence continued  through  nearly  all  the  obser- 
vations of  the  season,  notwithstanding  the  gauges 
were  separated  by  42.20  feet  of  close-grained 
birch-wood."  f  These  facts,  as  presented  by  Pres. 
Clarke,  would  seem  to  indicate  that  the  sap  above 
the  gauges  was  not  sustained  either  by  attraction 
or  diffusion,  but  rested  on  the  sap  below  as  a  dead 
weight.  The  following  experiment  traces  the  force 
of  injection  still  deeper  into  the  root :  "  A  root 
was  followed  from  the  trunk  to  the  distance  of  ten 

*  Agriculture  of  Mass.,  73-74,  p.  ^87.  t  Ibid.  p.  188. 


^2  VEGETABLE    LIFE. 

feet,  where  it  was  carefully  cut  off  one  foot  below 
the  surface,  and  a  piece  removed  from  between  the 
cut  and  the  tree.  The  end  of  the  root  thus  en- 
tirely detached  from  the  tree,  and  lying  in  an  hori- 
zontal position  at  the  depth  of  one  foot  in  the  cold, 
damp  earth,  unreached  by  the  sunshine,  and  for 
the  most  part  unaffected  by  the  temperature  of  the 
atmosphere,  measured  about  one  inch  in  diameter. 
To  this  was  carefully  adjusted  a  mercurial  gauge, 
April  26th.  The  pressure  at  once  became  evident, 
and  rose  constantly,  with  very  slight  fluctuations, 
until  at  noon  on  the  30th  of  April  it  had  attained 
the  unequalled  height  of  85.80  feet  of  water.  This 
wonderful  result  showed  that  the  absorbing  power 
of  living  birch  rootlets,  without  the  aid  of  any  of 
the  numerous  helps  imposed  upon  them  by  ingen- 
ious philosophers,  such  as  osmose,  exhalation,  dila- 
tation, contraction,  oscillation,  capillarity,  etc.,  etc., 
was  quite  sufficient  to  account  for  the  most  essen- 
tial of  the  curious  phenomena  connected  with  the 
circulation  of  the  sap."  * 

All  the  use  we  wish  to  make  of  these  state- 
ments is  to  show  that  there  is  in  some  way  present 
in  the  plant  a  power  of  wonderful  energy,  as  indi- 
cated by  its  mastery  of  forces,  and  of  great  wis- 
dom, as  shown  by  the  constructive  service  to 
which  it  puts  them.  If  the  forces  involved  in  this 
growth  are  all  gathered  up  from  the  physical  and 
chemical  activities  that  lie  below,  as  they  probably 
are,  yet  the  uses  made  of  them,  their  changeful 
activity  and  sudden  repression,  their  combination 

*  Agriculture  of  Mass.,  73-74,  p.  189. 


PLASTIC    POWER.  73 

into  the  habit  of  each  species,  a  habit  thoroughly 
subservient  to  its  own  methods  of  growth,  still  re- 
main the  chief  factor  in  the  organic  process.  To 
this  intellectual  element,  we  shall  be  justified,  as 
we  go  higher,  in  referring  all  like  constructive  ac- 
tion. This  we  single  out  and  bear  with  us  as  an 
inscrutable,  plastic  power,  offering  explanation  to 
all  kindred  organic  results. 

We  wish  to  enforce  this  result  a  little  more  be- 
fore we  leave  it,  and  to  observe  some  of  the  more 
surprising  directions  in  which  vegetable  life,  as 
contrasted  with  sensitive  animal  life,  is  extended. 
This  constructive  power  involves,  aside  from  its 
general  organizing  functions,  many  peculiar  adap- 
tations which,  in  their  singular  fitness  and  imme- 
diate dependence  on  external  conditions,  carry  us 
very  far  on  toward  the  increased  sensitiveness  and 
specialized  activities  of  the  animal  kingdom.  Thus 
a  tendril,  as  soon  as  it  has  clasped  a  support,  com- 
mencing at  a  point  intermediate  between  its  ex- 
tremities, forms,  by  a  twisting  movement  round 
itself,  a  double  coil  running  toward  each  end.  It 
thereby  slowly  tightens  the  bond  which  holds  the 
climber,  and  makes  it  elastic.  A  tree,  like  the 
oak,  in  the  deposit  of ,  the  material  of  growth,  for- 
tifies a  heavy  branch,  leaving  the  centre  or  pith 
quite  in  the  upper  half,  bracing  the  limb  strongly 
and  gracefully  below  as  it  passes  into  the  trunk, 
and  interlacing  the  fibres  of  the  two  in  the  strong- 
est way.  The  round  bowl  of  the  elm,  with  like 
fitness,  raises  sharp  hutments  with  deep  inter- 
spaces, as  it  passes  by  its  heavy  roots  into  the  soil. 


74  VEGETABLE    LIFE. 

A  poplar,  growing  in  the  track  of  the  wind,  will 
convert  the  circular  section  of  its  trunk  into  an 
elliptical  one,  with  its  largest  axis  in  the  direction 
of  the  current. 

We  do  not  need  to  dwell  on  these  special  adap- 
tations as  they  are  not  after  all  so  much  to  our 
purpose  as  that  habitual  control  of  the  entire  or- 
ganic movement  which  incidentally  takes  on  these 
and  a  thousand  other  passing  phases. 

A  second  consideration. in  vegetable  life  is  the 
immediate  discrimination  it  involves.  If  discrim- 
ination were  the  proper  test  of  consciousness  here 
would  be  consciousness.  The  radicle  and  the  plu- 
mule part  company,  the  one  working  its  way  into 
the  soil  and  darkness,  the  other  searching  for  air 
and  light.  Totally  diverse  tendencies  possess  them 
from  the  outset,  and  they  at  once  accommodate 
themselves  to  all  the  conditions  for  carrying  them 
out.  The  problem  of  positions  and  relations  is 
solved  in  the  most  direct  way.  The  seed  germi- 
nates on  the  decaying  stump,  and  the  roots  de- 
scend along  the  sides  into  the  soil  beneath.  In 
the  same  discriminating  way  the  buds  push  up- 
ward, or  to  the  right,  or  to  the  left,  in  search  of 
the  strongest  light.  The  roots  also  find  out  the 
places  of  moisture  and  nutriment,  and  spread  in 
those  directions.  Growth  is  not  equal  in  all  open 
spaces,  but  within  limits  selects  the  lines  of  devel- 
opment, and  accommodates  itself  to  circumstances. 
In  many  other  ways  is  this  recognition  of  relations 
and  variation  of  growth  in  obedience  to  them  ob- 
servable. 


ACTIVE   ADJUSTMENTS.  75 

If  the  leader  of  the  balsam  or  spruce  is  bro- 
ken, it  supplies  the  place  with  a  lateral.  If  a  tree 
has  attained  undue  height  in  the  shade,  when  this 
shade  is  removed  it  sends  out  lower  branches  to 
strengthen  the  trunk.  I  once  planted  twenty-five 
European  lindens  which  had  been  grown  in  a  nur- 
sery and  reached  considerable  height  with  very 
little  strength.  For  several  years  they  made  no 
upward  growth,  but  put  forth  sprouts  freely  up  and 
down  the  stem.  If  these  were  stripped  away,  they 
were  replaced,  and  the  trees  did  not  resume  their 
normal  growth  till  the  bodies  had  been  trebled  in 
size.  They  thus  fitted  their  development  exactly 
to  their  new  conditions,  with  an  adaptation  of 
means  to  ends  as  unmistakable  as  that  indicated 
by  cutting  them  back  at  the  time  of  planting. 
Pines  in  the  forest  trim  themselves  rapidly,  drop- 
ping their  lower  branches  and  sending  up  higher 
and  higher  those  smooth,  majestic  trunks  in  which 
are  found  their  chief  beauty  and  value.  This  habit 
is  incident  to  the  absence  of  light,  but  seems  some- 
thing more  after  all  than  its  direct  effect,  as  the 
young  pine  will  still  grow  at  the  base  of  trees  that 
are  losing  freely  their  lower  branches. 

The  vine,  whose  leaves  have  been  disheveled 
in  removal  or  in  training,  begins  at  once  to  re- 
adjust itself  to  the  light,  to  accept  and  adopt  new 
circumstances.  Flowers,  in  their  modes  of  pre- 
sentation, in  their  times  of  opening,  in  their  move- 
ments, put  themselves  actively  in  adjustment  with 
the  sunlight,  sometimes  in  acceptance,  sometimes 
in  rejection,  sometimes  in   gradation.      Climbing 


76  VEGETABLE    LIFE. 

plants  of  Central  America  are  said  to  show  de- 
cided likes  and  dislikes  in  the  trees  they  twine 
about,  refusing  some  altogether.* 

The  most  striking  examples  in  plants  of  dis- 
crimination of  external  conditions  and  direct  re- 
sponse to  them,  are  those  so  fully  presented  by 
Mr.  Darwin,  in  his  volumes  on  Insectivorous  Plants 
and  Climbing  Plants.  A  few  of  the  facts  given  by 
him  will  subserve  our  purpose.  The  first  brought 
forward  are  found  in  his  work  on  Insectivorous 
Plants.  Many  plants,  belonging  to  very  different 
species,  respond  by  movement  to  irritation,  and 
are  thus  enabled  to  catch  and  feed  upon  insects. 
In  the  common  sun-dew,  glands  located  in  the  cen- 
tre of  the  leaf,  when  excited  by  contact,  transmit 
an  impulse  to  marginal  tentacles,  and  these  slowly 
gather  in  towards  the  centre,  and  freely  close  over 
it.  The  time  occupied  by  the  movement  depends 
on  the  size  of  the  object,  on  the  soluble  matter  of 
the  proper  kind  it  contains,  on  the  vigor  of  the 
leaf,  on  its  previous  contraction,  and  on  temper- 
ature. 

A  living  insect  acts  more  efficiently  than  a 
dead  one,  and  one  with  thin  than  one  with  thick 
integuments.f  Thus  the  plant  at  once  responds 
to  a  half-dozen  different  conditions,  meeting  each 
with  its  own  measure  of  motion.  But  not  only 
does  movement  follow  close  on  the  appropriate 
irritation,  the  glands  involved  pour  forth  an  in- 
creased amount  of  fluid,  and  this  not  simply  when 

*  Popular  Science  Monthly,  vol.  iii.  p.  8i. 
t  Insectivorous  Plants,  p.  9. 


VEGETABLE    DIGESTION.  // 

in  contact  with  the  insect,  but  as  they  approach  it 
on  all  sides.  The  secretion  also  changes  its  nature 
and  becomes  acid.*  A  true  digestive  process,  both 
in  its  mechanical  and  chemical  elements,  is  thus 
established  at  once  in  the  leaf  of  a  plant  by  the 
presence  of  a  digestible  object,  as  much  so  as  in 
the  stomach  of  an  animal.  This  is  done,  not  merely 
in  advance  of  that  intelligence  ordinarily  developed 
in  the  capture  of  food,  but  also  in  advance  of  its 
usual  instrument,  a  nervous  system.  If  the  insect 
alights  on  the  margin  of  the  disc,  it  is  entangled 
by  the  secretion,  rolled  inward  to  the  centre  of  the 
leaf  by  the  contraction,  and  there  digested  by  the 
aid  of  fluids,  closely  allied  to  gastric  juices.f  Thus 
a  power  which  only  recently  has  been  proved  to 
belong  to  the  animal  kingdom,  the  direct  modifica- 
tion of  the  secretion  of  glands  by  irritation,  is 
also  included  in  organic  vegetable  life. 

The  discrimination  of  the  plant  is  often  of  the 
most  delicate  character.  The  nitrogenous  nature 
of  the  irritant  is  of  great  moment,  and  it  must 
"  literally  rest  on  the  glands."  The  pressure  of  a 
particle  weighing  only  the  tsItt  of  a  grain  is  suffi- 
cient to  occasion  movement,  though  "  it  is  ex- 
tremely doubtful  whether  any  nerve  in  the  human 
body,  even  in  an  inflamed  condition,  would  be  in 
any  degree  affected  by  such  a  particle  supported 
in  a  dense  fluid."  J  There  is  also  not  merely 
this  original  delicacy  of  touch,  but  a  variation  of 
it  to  suit  special  cases.    "  When  the  motor  impulse 

*  Insectivorous  Plants,  p.  14.         t  Ibid  p.  16.         J  Ibid.  p.  33. 


'j'^  VEGETABLE    LIFE. 

comes  from  one  side  of  the  disc,  the  surrounding 
tentacles,  including  the  short  ones  in  the  middle  of 
the  disc,  all  bend  with  precision  toward  the  point 
of  excitement,  wherever  this  may  be  situated.  This 
is  in  every  way  a  remarkable  phenomenon ;  for 
the  leaf  falsely  appears  as  if  endowed  with  the 
senses  of  an  animal,"  * 

In  the  Dionaea,  "  the  sensitiveness  of  the  fila- 
ments is  of  a  specialized  nature,  being  related  to  a 
momentary  touch  rather  than  to  prolonged  pressure ; 
and  the  touch  must  not  be  from  fluids,  such  as  air  or 
water,  but  from  some  solid  object."!  The  close  alli- 
ance of  this  discrimination  of  the  plant  to  true  touch, 
is  seen  in  the  fact  that  it  responds  to  momentary 
more  readily  than  to  prolonged  contact;  and  its 
affiliation  in  form  to  intelligence  in  the  fact  that  it 
distinguishes  against  water  and  air,  as  the  sensi- 
tiveness of  its  structure  would  otherwise  be  wasted 
on  rains  and  winds. 

In  the  Venus'  fly-trap  the  irritation  occasions 
a  much  more  rapid  movement.  The  animal  is  cap- 
tured by  the  quickness  with  which  the  leaf  closes, 
and  the  glands  take  part  by  their  secretion  in  the 
digestion  only  of  the  insect,  not  in  its  retention. 
In  this  plant  the  spikes  which  bristle  on  the  margin 
of  the  leaf  interlock  with  each  other  in  closing, 
so  as  to  allow  the  escape  of  very  small  insects,  and 
to  retain  those  only  which  promise  a  reasonable 
return  to  the  plant  for  its  labor.  The  leaf  declines 
to  waste  time  on  the  bug  if  he  is  not  big  enough 
to  pay  for  the  candle. 

*  Insectivorous  Plants,  p.  276.  t  Ibid.  p.  292. 


RESPONSE    TO    STIMULI.  79 

In  the  somewhat  large  and  varied  class  of  in- 
sectivorous plants,  we  find  many  ways  of  respond- 
ing slowly  and  rapidly,  in  physical  movements  and 
organic  secretions,  to  influences  of  wonderful  deli- 
cacy, both  as  to  amount  and  character.  The  sensi- 
bilities of  a  nervous  system  are  more  varied,  but  are 
hardly  more  striking  in  special  cases.  We  are  to 
credit  then  to  vegetable  life  the  power  to  discern 
exceedingly  slight  external  stimuli,  and  to  respond 
to  them  in  a  variety  of  functions  through  an  ex- 
tended organism. 

Climbing  plants  present  a  similar  wonderful 
susceptibility  to  outward  conditions.  They  also  in 
new  directions  anticipate  a  sensitiveness  belonging 
to  the  nervous  structure  of  animals.  Mr.  Da:  w.n  is 
again  the  chief  authority.  The  remarkable  fea- 
tures in  the  conduct  of  these  plants  are  the  slow 
revolution,  in  a  larger  or  smaller  circle,  of  the  upper 
extremities,  in  search  of  a  support ;  the  manner  in 
which  a  support  is  closely  wrapped  when  it  has 
been  found  ;  in  some  cases,  the  revolution  of  the 
leaves  of  the  plant,  with  a  like  grasping  power  in 
the  petioles  ;  in  still  other  instances,  a  similar  motion 
of  tendrils,  and  an  extreme  sensitiveness  to  all  the 
conditions  connected  with  a  full  discharge  of  their 
office. 

The  first  of  these  peculiarities,  the  revolution 
of  the  free  extremity  of  the  climbing  plant,  is  the 
most  simple,  and  implies  no  adaptation  to  the  im- 
mediate circumstances.  As  soon  as  an  object  is 
touched,  the  same  revolving  movement  assumes  the 
the  form  of  pressure,  and  slowly  winds  the  plant, 


8o  VEGETABLE   LIFE. 

if  the  character  of  the  support  admits  of  this  re- 
sult, tightly  about  it  in  the  direction  of  revolution. 
That  the  climbing  plant  should  take  on  a  motion 
so  peculiar  to  its  method  of  growth ;  that  this 
motion  should  be  confined  to  the  extremity  of  the 
plant  for  a  limited  period,  and  that  it  should  be  dis- 
placed in  part  by  the  pressure  of  clasping  leaves 
and  tendrils,  all  show  an  organic  mastery  of  exter- 
nal conditions  approaching  that  which  we  find  in  a 
more  complete  form  in  higher  life.  The  sensitive- 
ness in  some  instances  of  the  petioles,  and  more 
frequently  of  the  tendrils,  of  climbing  plants,  is  a 
much  more  remarkable  forecast  of  later  organic 
functions.  On  this  point  we  quote  freely  from 
Darwin.  The  first  passage  bears  on  the  sensitive- 
ness of  clasping  petioles  to  contact,  the  second  on 
the  sensitiveness  of  the  tendrils  of  the  Bignonia 
to  light,  and  on  their  general  conduct.  "  The 
petioles  are  sensitive  to  a  touch  and  to  excessively 
slight  continued  pressure,  even  from  a  loop  of  soft 
thread  weighing  only  the  one-sixteenth  of  a  grain  ; 
and  there  is  reason  to  believe  that  the  rather  thick 
and  stiff  petioles  of  Clematis  flammula  are  sensitive 
to  even  much  less  weight  if  spread  over  a  wide 
surface.  The  petioles  always  bend  toward  the  side 
that  is  pressed  or  touched,  at  different  rates  in 
different  species,  sometimes  within  a  few  minutes, 
but  generally  after  a  much  longer  period.  After 
temporary  contact  with  any  object,  the  petiole  con- 
tinues to  bend  for  a  considerable  time;  afterwards 
it  slowly  becomes  straight  again,  and  can  then  re- 
act.     A  petiole   excited   by  an   extremely   slight 


CLIMBING    PLANTS.  8 1 

weight  sometimes  bends  a  little,  and  then  becomes 
accustomed  to  the  stimulus,  and  either  bends  no 
more  or  becomes  straight  again,  the  weight  still 
remaining  suspended.  Petioles  which  have  clasped 
an  object  for  some  little  time  can  not  recover  their 
original  position.  After  remaining  clasped  for  two 
or  three  days,  they  generally  increase  much  in 
thickness,  either  throughout  their  whole  diameter 
or  on  one  side  alone  ;  they  subsequently  become 
stronger  and  more  woody,  sometimes  to  a  wonder- 
ful degree  ;  and  sometimes  they  acquire  an  internal 
structure  like  that  of  the  stem  or  axis."*  "  On 
another  plant  three  pairs  of  tendrils  were  produced 
at  the  same  time  by  three  shoots,  and  all  happened 
to  be  differently  directed.  I  placed  the  pot  in  a 
box  open  only  on  one  side,  and  obliquely  facing  the 
light ;  in  two  days  all  six  tendrils  pointed  with  un- 
erring truth  to  the  darkest  corner  of  the  box, 
though  to  do  this  each  had  to  bend  in  a  different 
manner.  Six  turret-vanes  could  not  have  more  truly 
shown  the  direction  of  the  wind  than  did  these 
branched  tendrils  the  course  of  the  streams  of  light 
which  entered  the  box."t  "  When  a  tendril  has 
not  succeeded  in  clasping  a  support,  either  through 
its  own  revolving  movement  or  that  of  the  shoot, 
or  by  turning  toward  any  object  that  intercepts  the 
light,  it  bends  vertically  downwards,  and  then  to- 
ward its  own  stem,  which  it  seizes,  together  with 
the  supporting  stick,  if  there  be  one.  A  little  aid 
is  thus  given  in  keeping  the  stem  secure.  If  the 
tendril  seizes  nothing,  it  soon  withers  away  and 

*  Climbing  Plants,  p.  8i  t  Ibid.  p.  98. 

6 


82  VEGETABLE    LIFE. 

drops  off."*  "  Knowing  that  the  tendrils  avoided 
the  light,  I  gave  them  a  glass  tube  blackened 
within,  and  a  well-blackened  zinc  plate  ;  but  they 
soon  recoiled  from  these  objects  with  what  I  can 
only  call  disgust,  and  straightened  themselves. "f 
"  I  have  watched  a  tendril,  half  of  which  had  bent 
itself  at  right  angles  round  the  sharp  corner  of  a 
square  post,  bring  every  single  hook  into  contact 
with  both  rectangular  surfaces.  The  appearance 
suggested  the  belief  that  though  the  whole  tendril 
is  not  sensitive  to  the  light,  yet  that  the  tips  are  so, 
and  that  they  turn  and  twist  themselves  toward  any 
dark  surface.  Ultimately  the  branches  arrange 
themselves  very  neatly  to  all  the  irregularities  of 
the  most  rugged  bark,  so  that  they  resemble  in  their 
irregular  course  a  river  with  its  branches,  as  en- 
graved on  a  map."J  The  following  passages  sum- 
marize the  action  of  tendrils  :  "  With  most  tendril- 
bearers  the  summit  of  the  stem  or  shoot  projects 
above  the  point  from  which  the  tendril  arises ;  and 
it  is  generally  bent  to  one  side,  so  as  to  be  out  of 
the  way  of  the  revolutions  swept  by  the  tendril. 
In  those  plants  in  which  the  terminal  shoot  is  not 
sufficiently  out  of  the  way,  as  we  have  seen  with 
the  Echinocystis,  as  soon  as  the  tendril  comes  in 
its  revolving  course  to  this  point,  it  stiffens  and 
straightens  itself,  and  thus  rising  vertically  up 
passes  over  the  obstacle  in  an  admirable  manner. 

All  tendrils  are  sensitive,  but  in  various  de- 
grees, to  contact  with  an  object,  and  curve  toward 
the  touched  side.      With  several  plants,  a  single 

*  Climbing  Plants,  p.  99.  t  Ibid.  J  Ibid.  p.  105. 


CLIMBING    PLANTS.  83 

touch,  SO  slight  as  just  to  move  the  highly  flexible 
tendril,  is  enough  to  induce  curvature.  Passiflora 
gracilis  possesses  the  most  sensitive  tendrils  which 
I  have  observed.  A  bit  of  platina  wire,  one-fiftieth 
of  a  grain  in  weight,  gently  placed  on  the  concave 
point,  caused  a  tendril  to  become  hooked."*  "Asa 
Gray  also  observed  movement  in  the  tendrils  of  the 
Cucurbitaceous  genus,  Sicyos,  in  30  seconds.  The 
tendrils  of  some  other  plants,  when  lightly  rubbed, 
moved  in  a  few  minutes.  *  *  *  j^  makes  no 
difference  what  sort  of  object  a  tendril  touches, 
with  the  remarkable  exception  of  other  tendrils  and 
drops  of  water."!  "  With  most  tendrils  the  leaves 
or  basal  part  is  either  not  at  all  sensitive,  or  sensi- 
tive only  to  prolonged  contact.  We  thus  see  that 
the  sensitiveness  of  tendrils  is  a  special  and  local- 
ized capacity. "J  Twining  plants,  when  they  come 
into  contact  with  a  stick,  curl  round  it  invariably  in 
the  direction  of  their  revolving  movement ;  but 
tendrils  curl  indifferently  to  either  side,  in  accord- 
ance with  the  position  of  the  stick  and  the  side 
which  is  first  touched."§ 

Here,  then,  we  have  in  the  plant  sensitiveness 
extending  to  the  most  delicate  touch,  an  immediate 
adjustment  of  motions  to  it,  a  discrimination  be- 
tween objects,  so  that  another  tendril  or  a  drop  of 
water  are  not  allowed  to  occupy  time  and  waste 
energy,  and  a  very  remarkable  sensitiveness  to  the 
light,  not  as  an  agent  in  growth  merely,  but  as  a 
guide  to  the  tendril  in  finding  its  point  of  attach- 

*  Climbing  Plants,  p.  171.        t  Ibid.  p.  172.        J  Ibid.  p.  173. 
§Ibid 


84  VEGETABLE    LIFE. 

ment  The  conduct  of  the  tendril  when  it  has  ob- 
tained or  failed  to  obtain  its  object  is  not  less 
remarkably  fitted  to  changeable  external  conditions. 
"  Tendrils  soon  after  catching  a  support  grow  much 
stronger  and  thicker,  and  sometimes  more  durable 
to  a  wonderful  degree  ;  and  this  shows  how  much 
their  internal  tissues  must  be  changed.  Occasion- 
ally it  is  the  part  which  is  wound  round  a  support 
which  chiefly  becomes  thicker  and  stronger  ;  I  have 
seen,  for  instance,  this  part  of  a  tendril  of  Bignonia 
aequinoctialis  twice  as  thick  and  rigid  as  the  free 
basal  part.  Tendrils  which  have  caught  nothing 
soon  shrink  and  wither."  *  **  The  tendrils  and  in- 
ternodes  of  Ampelopsis  have  little  or  no  power  of 
revolving ;  the  tendrils  are  but  little  sensitive  to  con- 
tact;  their  hooked  extremities  cannot  seize  their 
objects  ;  they  will  not  even  clasp  a  stick,  unless  in 
extreme  need  of  a  support ;  but  they  turn  from  the 
light  to  the  dark,  and,  spreading  out  their  branches 
in  contact  with  any  nearly  flat  surface,  develop  discs. 
These  adhere  by  the  secretion  of  some  cement  to  a 
wall  or  even  to  a  polished  surface.  The  rapid 
development  of  these  adherent  discs  is  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  peculiarities  possessed  by  any 
tendril."  f 

There  are,  then,  a  half-dozen  of  very  special  ac- 
tions and  of  marked  changes  in  constitution  by 
which  a  tendril  performs  its  offices.  Failing  in  a 
first  function,  it  substitutes  a  second  ;  failing  in 
this  it  drops  away.  Once  attached  it  constructs  its 
spirals  and  strengthens  its  substance,  that  it  may 

*  Climbing  Plants,  p.  175.  t  Ibid.  p.  179. 


CLIMBING    PLANTS.  8$ 

do  its  work  thoroughly  well.  Unable  to  clasp  its 
support,  it  plants  the  tip  of  the  tendril  as  a  disc,  and 
maintains  the  upward  growth.  It  goes  at  its  labor 
in  each  instance  with  apt  and  fresh  resources.  "  It 
has  often  been  vaguely  asserted  that  plants  are  dis- 
tinguished from  animals  by  not  having  the  power 
of  movement.  It  should  rather  be  said  that  plants 
acquire  and  display  this  power  only  where  it  is  of 
some  advantage  to  them  ;  this  being  of  compara- 
tively rare  occurrence,  as  they  are  affixed  to  the 
ground,  and  food  is  brought  to  them  by  the  air  and 
rains.  We  see  how  high  in  the  scale  of  organization 
a  plant  may  rise,  when  we  look  at  one  of  the  more 
perfect  tendril-bearers.  It  first  places  its  tendrils 
ready  for  action,  as  a  polypus  places  its  tentacula. 
If  the  tendril  be  displaced,  it  is  acted  on  by  the 
force  of  gravity  and  rights  itself.  It  is  acted  on  by 
the  light  and  bends  toward  or  from  it,  or  disregards 
it,  whichever  may  be  most  advantageous.  During 
several  days  the  tendrils,  or  internodes,  or  both, 
spontaneously  revolve  with  a  steady  motion.  The 
tendril  strikes  some  object,  and  quickly  coils  round 
and  firmly  grasps  it.  In  the  course  of  some  hours 
it  contracts  into  a  spire,  dragging  up  the  stem  and 
forming  an  excellent  spring.  All  movements  now 
cease.  By  growth  the  tissues  soon  become  won- 
derfully strong  and  durable.  The  tendril  has  done 
its  work,  and  has  done  it  in  an  admirable  man- 
ner." * 

Our  purpose  in  bringing  these  facts  together  is 
simply  to  emphasize  the  extent  of  the  organic  au- 

*  Climbing  Plants,  p.  206 


86  VEGETABLE    LIFE. 

tomatic  processes  we  reach  in  the  vegetable  king- 
dom before  we  touch  the  animal  kingdom,  and,  by 
general  consent,  before  we  reach  consciousness. 
We  have  merely  hinted  at  the  decisive  plastic  power 
which  belongs  to  the  higher  plants,  and  at  some  of 
the  more  striking  adaptations  which  it  reaches.  Of 
the  great  variety  of  its  manifestations  on  this  plane 
we  have  said  nothing  ;  of  the  many  ways  in  which 
it  constructs  and  guides  a  plant  for  its  own  specific 
ends.  The  plane  is  one,  but  the  plastic  powers  at 
work  upon  it  are  many.  Our  interpretation  of  the 
animal  kingdom  in  which  the  plane  itself  is  slowly 
shifted  will  be  greatly  modified  by  the  highly  devel- 
oped organic  structures  which  we  have  found  below 
it.  To  be  sure  these  plants  are  in  no  sense  in 
direct  line  with  animal  life,  but  organic  functions 
remain  none  the  less  essentially  the  same  as  a 
form  of  development.  The  organic  forces  which 
reach  in  the  vegetable  such  remarkable  results  with 
no  nervous  system,  may,  where  such  an  instrument 
is  present,  mount  higher  and  do  very  much  more 
with  no  enlargement  of  function  by  an  indwelUng 
intelligence. 

These  powers  of  construction  and  adaptation  in 
the  vegetable  are  also  transmitted.  The  seed,  which 
may  lie  dormant  so  long,  and  which  shows  so  little 
organic  material  beyond  the  accumulation  of  nutri- 
ment, transmits,  like  the  ovum,  specific  qualities. 
There  is  here,  however,  a  remarkable  difference. 
The  seed,  as  of  the  apple,  may  drop  in  growth  the 
qualities  which  make  the  variety,  and  assume  with 
advance  or  more  frequently  with  retrogression  new 


HEREDITY.  8/ 

ones.  At  the  same  time  each  section  of  the  wood 
of  the  apple  in  grafting,  though  fed  and  thoroughly 
flooded  by  alien  sap,  retains,  in  fruiting  its  own  spe- 
cific qualities.  While  there  is,  then,  a  law  of 
descent  in  plants  the  counterpart  of  that  in  ani- 
mals, the  facts  being  no  more  inscrutable  in  the  one 
case  than  in  the  other,  there  is  in  plants  a  peculiar, 
almost  a  capricious,  manifestation  of  this  law  favor- 
ing artificial  propagation  as  opposed  to  natural  de- 
scent. Any  theory  of  heredity  should  go  quite 
back  to  the  vegetable  kingdom,  and  cover  its  pheno- 
mena as  well  as  those  of  the  animal  kingdom.  If  we 
can  in  one  case  dispense  with  the  mediation  of  pecu- 
liar forces,  with  gemmules  and  physiological  units, 
we  can  do  so  equally  well  in  the  other.  If  gemmules 
are  present  in  the  apple-tree,  they  are  present  in  its 
wood,  not  specialized  for  transmission,  as  they  are 
not  present  in  its  seed,  its  most  concentrate  living 
product,  highly  specialized  for  this  very  purpose. 
Moreover,  they  are  present  in  the  wood,  the  rela- 
tively dead  element,  rather  than  in  the  sap,  the 
relatively  living  element,  since  it  is  the  wood  that 
remains  the  same  in  the  graft,  while  the  nourishing 
sap  is  rapidly  altered.  If  the  sap  alone  of  the  twig 
were  charged  with  gemmules,  these  would  be 
largely  displaced  with  other  gemmules,  before  it  be- 
came a  branch  and  brought  forth  fruit.  But  if  gem- 
mules are  not  the  media  of  transfer,  if  they  arc 
present  neither  in  its  seed  nor  in  its  wood,  there  is 
no  reason  why  we  should  think  them  present  in 
man,  since  the  law  of  inheritance  is  distinctly  one 
law  from  the  very  beginning.     There  is  a  rehearsal 


88  VEGETABLE   LIFE. 

in  outline  in  the  vegetable  kingdom  of  those  organic 
processes  in  whose  more  complete  development  ani- 
mal life  is  the  second  stage.  Not  less  certainly  are 
the  lower  powers  -to^  be  studied  and  measured  on 
their  own  plane  and  then  carried  up  into  the  higher 
organism  for  fresh  manifestations  there,  than  is  the 
food  of  the  animal  to  be  recognized  as  first  the  food 
of  the  plant  and  the  material  of  its  structure.  The 
laws  of  life  are  the  same  from  the  beginning  to  the 
end,  with  such  enlargement  and  modifications  as 
new  conditions  require.  We  are  not  to  accept  the 
new  element  before  it  is  called  for,  nor  deny  its  value 
when  it  is  manifestly  present ;  nor  having  admitted 
it  are  we  to  bear  it  surreptitiously  back  to  explain 
the  old  facts.  We  start  with  an  inscrutable  element, 
that  element  may  well  go  with  us  to  the  end.  Our 
knowledge  lies  in  reducing  it  to  its  simplest  terms, 
in  noting  the  order  and  stages  of  its  introduction, 
and  in  tracing  through  their  successive  steps  and 
relations  freely  open  to  us  that  great  structure,  the 
Cosmos,  physical  and  spiritual,  which  has  sprung  up 
out  of  them.  The  productive  steps  of  the  Divine 
method  are  our  thoughts.  As  each  higher  organiza- 
tion, passing  up  to  human  intelligence,  rests  in  uses 
and  powers  on  all  that  lies  below  it,  we  must  under- 
stand it,  first,  in  its  common  foundation-terms,  and, 
secondly,  in  its  differentia,  in  that  which  it  itself 
brings  to  the  organic  kingdom  for  its  enlargement. 


fi  f{  li  A  U  V 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE     NERVOUS     SYSTEM. 

The  first  function  of  the  nervous  system  is  to 
disseminate  the  stimuli  which  are  productive  of 
motions  in  organic  beings,  and  to  hasten  their 
action.  We  have  seen  that  motion  under  an 
external  irritant  belongs  to  plants,  but  this  motion 
is  relatively  restricted  and  usually  tardy.  The 
lower  forms  of  animal  life,  in  which  no  nervous 
system  is  apparent,  also  move  under  provocation, 
but  the  movement  is  more  simple,  less  definite  and 
decided  than  in  more  advanced  organisms.  Defin- 
iteness,  extension  and  decision  of  movement  are 
the  results  of  the  widely  and  rapidly  transferred 
energies  of  a  nervous  system. 

A  second  office  of  the  system  is  to  aid  in  the 
specialization  of  functions  and  organs.  This  sys- 
tem is  itself  such  a  specialization.  It  also  com- 
bines and  harmonizes  distinct  organs  in  strictly 
concurrent  action.  Indeed  this  system  would  seem 
to  be  a  primary  condition  of  union  and  successful 
activity  in  a  being  of  various,  complicated  and 
closely  inter-dependent  parts.  Though,  as  a  fact, 
considerable  complexity  and  entire  harmony  of  ac- 


90  THE   NERVOUS    SYSTEM. 

tion  are  obtained  without  this  system,  the  variety 
of  functions  and  their  immediateness  of  inter-action 
are  greatly  increased  in  connection  with  it.  It 
transfers  stimuli,  combines  stimuli,  and  so  distri- 
butes them  as  to  call  forth  various  and  harmonious 
action  throughout  the  organic  being  in  a  wonderful 
way.  A  nervous  system  is  thus  itself  a  specific 
structure,  set  apart  to  a  specific  ofiice,  and  also  a 
means  to  the  extension  of  specialization  in  all  direc- 
tions, by  uniting  each  function  with  every  other. 

A  third  office  of  a  nervous  system  is  the  mul- 
tiplication of  the  kinds  of  stimuli.  It  is  not  merely 
mechanical  contact  that  is  operative  under  it ;  but, 
through  special  organs,  light,  sound,  flavors  and 
odors  become  sharp  and  decisive  incentives.  Some- 
thing of  this  enlargement  of  sensibility  belongs 
even  to  the  plant.  It  responds  in  movement  to  the 
light,  and  seems  to  be  affected  by  conditions  of  fer- 
tility and  moisture  at  a  slight  remove  from  it.  Yet 
these  anticipatory  facts  present  but  a  faint  image  of 
the  varied  sensitiveness  of  a  nervous  system,  when 
developed  in  the  higher  animals  into  special  organs. 
This  system  not  only  combines  the  animal  into  one 
life  and  experience  within  itself,  it  gives  great  ex- 
tension and  delicacy  to  its  relations  to  surrounding 
conditions,  to  its  environment.  These  interior 
and  exterior  dependences  are  farther  enlarged  by 
the  variety  of  sensations  which  report  the  condi- 
tion of  every  organ  and  portion  of  the  body,  sen- 
sations to  which  there  is  no  definite  limit  either  in 
their  own  nature  or  in  the  facts  which  they  dis- 
close. 


ITS    DEVELOPMENT.  9 1 

The  highest  function  of  the  nervous  system, 
one  which  comes  only  at  a  late  period  and  very 
slowly  to  it,  but  at  length  constitutes  its  primary 
office,  is  to  furnish  the  conditions  of  a  conscious 
life,  and  carry  that  life  as  a  controlling  power 
through  the  entire  organism.  Consciousness  in  its 
lower  forms  seems  simply  to  minister  to  farther 
ease  and  accuracy  of  adjustment  in  organic  actions, 
and  to  secure  increasing  completeness  of  corre- 
spondence with  external  circumstances.  It  is  sim- 
ply a  new  term  in  the  extension  of  an  equilibration 
already  very  perfect.  In  its  higher  forms,  however, 
it  comes  to  assume  the  attitude  of  a  preeminent 
life,  and  compels  every  other  activity  to  minister  to 
its  new  spiritual  functions. 

We  are  chiefly  interested  in  the  nervous  struc- 
ture because  of  these  its  altered  relations  to  con- 
sciousness, but  we  must  none  the  less  understand 
its  organic  offices  before  we  can  comprehend  its  in- 
tellectual ones ;  since  the  latter  grow  out  of  and 
rest  upon  the  former.  Before  we  venture  to  indi- 
cate the  steps  of  psychological  development  we  will 
give,  in  a  most  general  way,  the  parts  which  com- 
pose the  nervous  system,  its  various  gradations, 
their  relations  to  each  other,  and  their  order  of  de- 
velopment. We  shall  take  no  notice  of  exceptional 
facts  which  do  not  modify  the  force  of  general 
truths  ;  nor  of  the  many  phases  which  intervene 
between  typical  forms  ;  nor  of  the  innumerable  va- 
rieties which  surround  them.  Our  purpose  is  more 
simple,  an  indication  of  the  line  of  development  and 
its  salient  positions.     It  is  not  the  windings  of  the 


92  THE   NERVOUS    SYSTEM. 

river,  but  its  sources  and  directions,  the  territory 
which  feeds  it,  and  its  debouchure  which  interest 
us. 

The  essential  facts  of  the  simplest  nervous  sys- 
tem are  nerves  and  a  ganglion  ;  this  as  a  centre  of 
reception  and  distribution,  and  those  as  lines  of 
communication.  Such  a  system  we  find  in  the 
Ascidians.  These  two  parts  are  distinguished  in 
position,  structure,  and  function.  The  nerve-fibres 
are  themselves  distinguished  by  functions  into  af- 
ferent and  efferent,  according  as  they  bear  a  stimu- 
lus inward  to  a  ganglion,  or  an  impulse  outward 
from  it.  The  relation  of  these  first  terms  of  a  ner- 
vous system  to  each  other  is  as  direct  and  mechan- 
ical as  that  of  mail  lines  by  which  letters  are  sent 
to  a  distributing  office,  and  thence  scattered  to 
their  destination.  Of  the  nature  of  the  energy 
transferred  along  the  nerves,  or  of  the  method  of 
its  distribution  by  the  ganglion,  we  know  very 
little.  The  double  office  of  the  nerves  is  due  per- 
haps wholly  to  their  points  of  origin  and  termina- 
tion ;  as  their  structure  seems  identical.  The  affe- 
rent nerves  start  in  surfaces  of  sensation,  general 
or  special,  and  terminate  in  ganglia  to  which  they 
transmit  the  impulses  received.  The  efferent 
nerves  have  a  distinct  origin  in  the  same  ganglia, 
and  terminate  in  muscles  or  organs  to  which  they 
transfer  the  stimulus  as  redirected  by  the  ganglia. 
The  one  set,  therefore,  acts  in  reference  to  the 
other  as  a  secondary  or  return  track. 

The  simplest  form  of  a  nervous  system  is  that  of 
a  single  ganglion,  with  its  direct  nervous  commu- 


ITS    SIMPLEST    FORMS.  93 

nications.  Such  a  system  is  sufficient  for  the  first 
function  mentioned.  It  gives  extension  and  decis- 
ion to  movement.  The  Tunicata  may  be  cited  as 
showing  this  primary  form.  "  A  single  gangHon 
lies  between  the  base  of  the  two  funnels  through 
which  water  is  taken  and  discharged."  The  sec- 
ond step  is  a  more  familiar  one.  In  it  several  gan- 
glia, each  with  its  own  nervous  connections,  are 
united  by  internuncial  nerves  so  that  the  stimuli 
of  all  are  combined  and  harmonized  in  action.  This 
is  the  simplest  extension  of  the  first  principle,  but 
is  a  type  of  a  large  portion  of  nervous  structure. 
In  animals,  like  the  Radiata,  in  which  a  circular 
symmetry  and  equality  of  parts  prevail,  this  form 
of  a  nervous  system  is  especially  harmonious  with 
the  general  structure.  In  the  starfish,  a  single 
ganglion  near  the  mouth  stands  in  connection  with 
each  ray,  and  these  being  united  with  each  other, 
the  impulse  of  each  is  extended  to  all.  Or  these 
ganglia  are  continuous  and  constitute  a  ring  of 
vesicular  matter  surrounding  the  mouth,  and  sending 
filaments  to  each  ray. 

This  type  of  structure  performs,  certainly,  the 
first  and  second  functions.  It  diffuses  motion,  and 
promotes  specialization  by  more  extensively  com- 
bining distinct  parts  into  one  whole.  It  may  also 
add  the  third  function,  that  of  varying  and  multi- 
plying the  forms  of  stimuli.  Thus,  the  Radiata 
may  have  ocelli  at  the  extremities  of  the  rays,  and 
the  nerves  passing  from  them  be  farther  supported 
by  minute  ganglia  of  their  own. 

The  Articulata,  like  the  Radiata,  are  remarkable 


94  THE   NERVOUS   SYSTEM. 

for  a  repetition  of  similar  parts,  though  these  parts 
are  now  placed  longitudinally.  The  segments  of 
the  Articulata  instead  of  coming  round  in  a  circle, 
which  gives  no  distinction  of  anterior  and  poste- 
rior, no  beginning  or  end,  are  arranged  in  a  line, 
and  so  start  with  a  head  and  end  with  a  tail.  Thus, 
however  extended  may  be  their  multiplication  of 
like  parts,  they  disclose  these  leading  animal  fea- 
tures. The  centipede  is  a  good  illustration.  The 
nervous  system  of  the  Articulata  is  in  accordance 
with  this  their  structure.  It  consists  of  a  series  of 
similar  ganglia  with  their  filaments  ;  these  ganglia, 
composed  of  two  lobes,  being  united  by  a  double 
nervous  cord.  The  twin  ganglia  closely  corres- 
pond to  each  other,  and  are  evenly  distributed  one 
to  each  segment.  "  The  more  alike  the  different 
segments  the  more  equal  are  the  ganglia."*  As  the 
Articulata  have  a  distinct  head,  so  also  the  ner- 
vous ganglia  of  the  head  show  a  distinct  relation, 
and  a  preeminence  over  other  ganglia  according  as 
the  head  is  more  or  less  fully  developed.  As  the 
nervous  cord  is  ventral,  not  dorsal,  it  closes  ante- 
riorly below  the  oesophagus  and  back  of  the  mouth 
with  the  sub-oesophageal  ganglia.  The  two  filaments 
of  the  cord  enclose  the  oesophagus,  and  unite  above 
it  in  the  cephalic  ganglia.  These  ganglia  are 
usually  larger  than  those  of  the  segments,  are  the 
seats  of  special  senses,  and  have  an  independent  con- 
nection with  the  inferior  centres.  In  addition  to  the 
direct  connection  of  the  several  ganglia  as  succes- 
sive links  in  one  chain,  a  distinct  line  of  nervous 

*  Carpenter's  Comparative  Physiology,  p.  663. 


THE   ARTICULATA.  95 

fibre  extends  from  the  cephalic  ganglia  backward, 
giving  off  branches  to  each  member  of  the  series. 
The  cephalic  ganglia  are  thus  put  in  more  imme- 
diate control  of  all  movements,  and  we  have  a  third 
principle  introduced  into  the  nervous  system,  that 
of  centralization,  or  cephaUzation.  Cephalization, 
however,  may  be  said  to  involve  two  points  ;  first, 
a  predominant  influence  of  the  cephalic  ganglia ; 
second,  a  gathering  more  and  more  of  the  ganglia 
into  the  head.  These  three  stages  of  nervous 
construction,  single  ganglia,  united  ganglia,  sub- 
ordinate and  concentrated  ganglia,  carry  us  up  to 
the  sub-kingdom  of  the  Vertebrata. 

In  proportion  as  development  advances  in  the 
Articulata  is  the  head  specialized,  and  do  its  ganglia 
become  more  supreme  in  function  and  more  numer- 
ous. In  the  earth-worm,  on  the  other  hand,  the  several 
ganglia  are  comparatively  merged  in  a  continuous 
cord  extending  the  whole  length  of  the  body.  As, 
passing  from  this  type  of  absolute  uniformity,  the 
segments  of  the  body  are  more  specialized,  and  so 
more  diverse,  their  ganglia  are  modified  in  size, 
some  of  them  are  combined,  some  of  them  are  sup- 
pressed, and  the  spaces  between  them  are  changed. 
In  the  insects,  the  highest  class  in  this  sub-king- 
dom, the  cephalic  ganglia  are  greatly  enlarged,  are 
closely  united  to  the  sub -oesophageal  ganglia  or  first 
ganglia  of  the  trunk,  and  take  them  more  imme- 
diately under  their  influence.  The  second  ganglia 
of  the  trunk  retire  to  the  middle  of  the  thorax  ;  the 
third  quite  disappear ;  the  fourth  and  fifth  coalesce ; 
the  sixth  and  seventh  are  obliterated  ;  while  the  re- 


96  THE    NERVOUS    SYSTEM. 

maining  ganglia  are  much  smaller  in  proportion  to 
the  rest.* 

Thus,  the  nervous  system  in  the  insect  at  once 
conforms  to  the  new  structure  by  a  concentration 
of  offices.  It  loses  its  regularity,  and  is  adapted  to 
a  more  varied,  and  more  thoroughly  harmonized  ac- 
tivity of  the  several  portions  of  the  body.  It  is  es- 
pecially gathered  up  in  the  head  and  thorax,  the 
former  the  seat  of  special  senses,  the  latter  of  the 
locomotive  apparatus.  In  this  concentration  in  in- 
sects of  nervous  energy  in  the  head,  we  have  a 
preparation  for  the  remarkable  instincts  of  a  por- 
tion of  that  order  ;  and  in  the  great  increase  of 
nervous  energy  in  the  thorax,  a  provision  for  the 
rapid  and  powerful  flight  of  many  of  them.  While 
there  is  this  general  correspondence  of  the  nervous 
system  to  the  new  powers  developed,  the  surprising 
instincts  of  certain  families,  as  of  the  ant,  bee,  and 
spider,  are  not  sufficiently  explained  by  these  mod- 
ifications. In  the  spider  there  is  a  yet  further  gath- 
ering together  of  the  nervous  ganglia  towards  the 
head.  The  abdominal,  thoracic  and  sub-oesophageal 
ganglia  are  fused  into  one  mass,  and  this  is  brought 
in  close  connection  with  the  cerebral  ganglia,  f 

The  symmetrywhich  belongs  to  the  Radiataand 
Articulata  disappears  in  the  Mollusca.  The  relation 
of  parts  is  less  uniform  and  harmonious  in  this 
branch  of  the  animal  kingdom  than  in  any  other. 
In  keeping  with  this  fact,  the  nervous  gangUa  are 


*  Carpenter's  Comparative  Physiology,  p,  672. 
t  Popular  Science  Monthly,  9th  vol.  p,  710, 


THE   MOLLUSCA.  9/ 

more   scattered,  and  vary  more  in  their  relations 
than  in  the  other  sub-kingdoms. 

The  typical  arrangement  in  this  division,  which 
means  even  here  nothing  more  than  the  midway 
form,  includes,  first,  the  cephalic  ganglia  which  may 
lie  as  a  pair  on  either  side  of  the  oesophagus,  or  be 
united  as  a  bilobed  mass  above  it ;  secondly,  the  sub- 
cesophageal  or  pedal  ganglia  lying  just  below  the 
oesophagus  ;  and,  thirdly,  the  posterior  or  parieto- 
splanchnic  ganglia.  The  posterior  ganglia  are  fre- 
quently represented  by  two  pairs  of  ganglia,  sep- 
arate in  position  and  divided  in  office.  One  pair  is 
connected  with  the  respiratory  organs,  and  is  termed 
the  branchial  ganglia ;  the  other  is  united  to  the 
mantle,  and  is  called  the  pallial  ganglia.  This  pair 
is  sometimes  united  with  the  branchial  ganglia,  at 
other  times  carried  forward  to  the  pedal  ganglia. 

As  the  range  of  development  is  very  great  in 
the  Mollusca,  this  midway  type  of  nervous  struc- 
ture, composed  of  ganglia  quite  distinct  in  position 
and  office,  and  proximately  equal  in  value,  though 
united  in  one  system,  fails  to  represent  the  many 
varieties  of  arrangement  above  and  below  it.  We 
have  already  mentioned  the  Tunicata  as  possessing 
but  one  ganglion.  Many  of  the  Mollusca  are  head- 
less, and  the  ganglia  which  gather  about  the 
mouth,  above  and  below  the  oesophagus,  are  propor- 
tionally secondary  in  importance.  The  supra-oeso- 
phageal  ganglia,  corresponding  to  the  cephalic  gang- 
lia, are  entirely  wanting  in  the  chiton ;  and  in  the 
oyster  the  posterior  ganglia  are  superior  in  size  to 
the  anterior  ganglia. 

7 


98  THE   NERVOUS   SYSTEM. 

In  the  cuttle-fish,  which  belongs  to  the  highest 
division  of  Mollusca,  the  cephalic  ganglia  are  large, 
and  the  other  ganglia  are  drawn  forward  in  close 
connection  with  them,  beneath  the  oesophagus. 
In  this  highest  branch  of  the  sub-kingdom,  the  su- 
premacy of  the  cephalic  ganglia  is  fully  shown,  and 
also  the  concentration  of  ganglia  incident  to  dis- 
criminating, energetic,  and  united  action. 

In  the  Vertebrata  we  start  from  the  very  begin- 
ning with  one  general  arrangement  uniformly  main- 
tained ;  the  variety  being  found  in  the  different 
degrees  of  development  in  different  ganglia.  This 
variety,  however,  has  a  large  range,  passing  from 
the  entire  absence  of  cephalic  ganglia  up  to  their 
complete  supremacy  in  man.  This  uniform  ar- 
rangement is  a  spinal  cord,  in  place  of  a  ventral 
cord,  and,  to  replace  the  scattered  ganglia  of  the 
ventral  cord,  an  encephalon.  This  is  composed  of 
many  ganglia,  with  great  variety  in  different  ani- 
mals in  their  relative  sizes,  but  all  compactly  placed 
in  the  head.  The  foundation  of  this  system,  con- 
taining the  ganglia  and  connections  analogous  to 
lower  systems,  is  first,  the  spinal  cord — this  in  an 
extreme  case  may  be  the  only  member — and,  sec- 
ondly, "its  anterior  prolongation  known  as  the  me- 
dulla oblongata,  and  the  sensory  ganglia  in  still  far- 
ther continuation  of  the  series."  On  this  are  erected, 
to  this  fundamental  automatic  mechanism  are  added, 
the  cerebellum  and  the  cerebrum  ;  "  to  which,"  says 
Dr.  Carpenter,  "  nothing  distinctly  analogous  can 
be  detected  in  any  of  the  inferior  classes."  The 
motor  and  sensory  ganglia,  themselves    large  and 


THE   VERTEBRATA.  99 

varied,  which  represent  corresponding  ganglia  in 
lower  forms  of  life,  are  wonderfully  supported  and 
within  limits  controlled  by  these  large  ganglia  the 
cerebellum  and,  in  the  higher  classes  of  the  sub-king- 
dom, by  the  much  larger  and  overshadowing  gang- 
lia, the  cerebrum.  The  cerebellum  does  not  seem 
to  be  the  seat  of  any  conscious  activity,  but  a 
means  of  coordinating  the  numerous  impressions 
and  the  very  complicated  actions  which  belong  to 
the  higher  animals.  It  is  a  motor  reverberatory 
centre  which  fulfils  its  office  alike  automatically, 
whether  the  impulse  be  conscious  or  unconscious, 
voluntary  or  involuntary,  in  its  origin.*  The  extent 
of  the  coordination  incident  to  the  superior  forms 
of  life  is  indicated  by  the  relative  size  of  these 
ganglia.  The  cerebrum  is  regarded  as  the  exclusive 
seat  of  consciousness  in  the  higher  animals.  "  The 
destruction  of  the  cerebral  hemispheres,  by  annihi- 
lating sensation,  ideation,  volition,  and  intelligence 
in  general,  reduces  the  animal  to  the  condition  of  a 
complex  machine."!  The  cerebrum  is  thus  the  spe- 
cialized organ  of  consciousness,  and  so  in  the  Ver- 
tebrata  of  intelligence. 

In  the  Amphioxus  or  "  brainless  fishes,"  the 
lowest  members  of  this  division  of  the  animal 
kingdom,  the  cerebellum  and  the  cerebrum  are  both 
wanting.  In  the  lower  Vertebrata,  these  ganglia 
are  quite  inferior  to  the  sensory  and  motor  ganglia. 
As  we  pass  upward,  there  is  a  constant  though  not 
a  uniform  increase  in  the  size  of  the  higher  ganglia, 
till,  in  man,  they  have  attained  not  only  a  superior, 

*  Ferrier's  Functions  of  th^  Brain,  p.  86.  t  Ibid.  p.  124. 


lOO  THE    NERVOUS   SYSTEM. 

but  a  preeminent  position.  The  relative  importance 
of  these  seats  of  conscious  life,  and  of  that  coor- 
dination to  which  the  voluntary  life  owes  its  chief 
efficiency,  is  made  up  of  many  things.  It  is  a  pre- 
eminence in  man  which  may  seem  to  suffer  slight 
disparagement  in  one  or  another  particular,  but  be- 
comes complete  and  undeniable  when  all  points  of 
view  are  combined.  The  cerebral  superiority  of 
man  is  like  his  superiority  in  the  special  senses 
He  may  be  greatly  outstripped  in  some  one  percep- 
tion, as  by  the  vulture  in  vision,  or  by  the  hound 
in  scent,  but  when  the  whole  circle  of  the  senses 
is  considered,  their  adaptation  to  his  specific  pur- 
poses, their  great  enlargement  by  the  judgments 
of  experience,  and  their  thorough  support  by  his 
rational  and  voluntary  constitution,  we  see  that 
man  is  in  this  direction  wonderfully  superior  to  any 
animal. 

In  absolute  size  the  brain  of  man  falls  below 
that  of  the  elephant  and  the  whale ;  but  this  fact 
is  not  very  significant  when  we  remember  the  com- 
paratively coarse  structure  of  these  animals,  their 
very  great  bulk,  and  the  consequent  expenditure  of 
physical  force,  to  be  sustained  by  a  nervous  system 
somewhat  corresponding  in  energy.  The  fact,  then, 
of  only  a  slightly  greater  weight  of  brain  in  these 
large  and  not  unsagacious  animals  serves  to  make 
manifest  man's  superiority.  But  in  relative  size, 
also,  that  is,  in  its  weight  as  compared  with  the 
weight  of  the  body,  the  brain  of  other  animals  sur- 
passes that  of  man.  The  brain,  when  fully  devel- 
oped^ constitutes  in  man  about  one-fiftieth  of  the 


RELATIVE   SIZE    OF   THE   BRAIN.  lOI 

entire  body.  In  some  birds  it  constitutes  one- 
twelfth.  The  range  in  the  relative  size  of  the  brain 
in  animals  is  very  great.  In  the  star-fish  it  is  i  to 
8915  ;  in  the  goose  i  to  3600.  The  ratio  is  more 
favorable  in  the  smaller  animals  than  in  the  larger 
ones  of  the  same  class.  The  smaller  birds  are 
some  of  them  remarkable  for  the  great  relative 
size  of  the  brain.  In  the  tomtit  it  is  i  to  12  ;  in 
the  canary  bird  i  to  14;  in  the  Arctic  sparrow  i  to 
II.*  The  reason  for  this  unusual  size  in  small 
birds  would  seem  to  be  obvious,  though  there  is  no 
corresponding  increase  in  intelligence.  The  activity, 
the  muscular  effort,  in  this  entire  class,  is  very 
great,  and  should  be  accompanied  with  a  relatively 
large  nervous  development.  But  this  muscular 
activity  is  usually  greater  in  the  smaller  than  in 
the  larger  birds.  Moreover,  the  organic  power 
dependent  on  the  nervous  power  must  be  rela- 
tively much  greater  in  a  small  bird  like  the  Arctic 
sparrow,  than  in  a  larger  one  like  the  eider- 
duck.  To  maintain  a  uniform  temperature  in  that 
little  furnace  of  life  encased  in  the  breast  of  a 
snow-bunting  ;  to  so  heat  the  blood  that  it  shall  be 
driven  in  genial  currents  through  legs  hardly  as 
large  as  grass-stalks  ;  reach  unchilled  the  extremi- 
ties of  the  tiny  claws,  and  return  thence  to  the  body 
unfrozen,  while  the  cheerful  bird  is  darting  through 
the  sharp  northern  blast,  or  resting  on  icy 
stems,  or  running  on  the  snow,  imply  a  wonder- 
ful energy  of  life,  and  may  well  call  for  a  large 
nervous  development. 

*  Journal  of  Mental  and  Nervous  Diseases,  Vol.  I.  No.  i. — 
Hammond. 


102  THE   NERVOUS   SYSTEM. 

It  is  doubtless  true  also  that  in  small  animals, 
what  we  may  call  the  first  terms  of  the  nervous 
system  being  necessarily  present,  the  ganglia  all 
complete,  the  size  of  the  nervous  system  becomes 
thereby  relatively  greater  than  in  larger  animals. 
In  these  there  is  an  additional  expansion  of  nerves, 
but  no  new  ganglia ;  and  as  the  nerves  help  to  sus- 
tain them  in  energy  there  is  no  occasion  as  these 
lengthen  for  a  corresponding  increase  of  the  cen- 
tral ganglia.  Development  in  the  nervous  system 
has  another  factor  beside  size ;  it  is  not  simply 
additive,  but  implies  also  a  more  perfect  coordina- 
tion of  existing  parts.  This  view  is  sustained  by 
the  fact  that  the  brain  is  relatively  larger  at  birth 
than  later  in  life.  Growth  involves  the  mastery 
of  the  organs  already  present  in  this  case,  more 
than  their  increase.  In  a  rat-terrier  at  birth,  the 
ratio  of  the  brain  to  the  body,  as  given  by  Prof. 
Wilder,  was  .054 ;  in  a  second  specimen,  six  months 
of  age,  it  was  .028.  In  a  shepherd  dog,  a  few  days 
old,  it  was  .028  ;  in  one  six  weeks  old  it  was  .021. 
A  much  greater  contrast,  however,  is  shown  in  the 
same  tables  between  larger  and  smaller  breeds.* 
Thus  in  the  Newfoundland  dog  the  ratio  was  .003  ; 
in  the  bull  and  cur,  .003  ;  and  in  the  St.  Bernard, 
.002.  Yet  these  are  especially  intelligent  varieties. 
Imperfect  tables  of  the  relative  sizes  of  the  brain 
in  other  animals,  chiefly  Carnivora,  indicate,  though 
less  clearly,  the  same  relations.  It  is  probable  that 
domestic  animals  owe  more  to  training,  and  less  to 

*  Anatomical  Papers,  by  Burt  G.  Wilder,  p.  235. 


PREEMINENCE    OF    MAN.  IO3 

original  size  and  primary  functions,  than  do  wild 
animals. 

Another  contrast  in  weight  is  that  between  the 
gray  and  the  white  matter  in  the  same  system.  A 
preponderance  of  white  matter  indicates  a  corre- 
sponding, muscular  vigor,  and  a  preponderance  of 
the  gray  matter  a  more  complete  concentration  of 
functions,  an  increase  of  the  conscious  and  volun- 
tary life.  In  this  respect  man  is  preeminent.  Says 
Dr.  Hammond,  in  the  article  referred  to:  "Unless 
regard  is  paid  to  this  point,  we  should  certainly  fall 
into  serious  errors  in  determining  the  relation  ex- 
isting between  the  mind  and  the  nervous  system  ; 
but  having  it  in  view,  the  connection  is  at  once 
clear  and  well-defined,  there  being  no  exception  to 
the  law  that  the  mental  development  is  in  direct 
proportion  to  the  amount  of  the  gray  matter  enter- 
ing into  the  composition  of  the  nervous  system  of 
any  animal  of  any  kind  whatever.  *  *  *  When 
we  inquire  into  the  absolute  and  relative  amount  of 
the  gray  tissue,  man  stands  preeminent ;  it  is  to 
this  fact  that  he  owes  the  great  mental  develop- 
ment which  places  him  so  far  above  all  other  living 
beings." 

This  relation  of  the  entire  brain  in  its  size  to 
its  composite  offices ;  the  relation  in  the  size  of  one 
or  other  of  its  parts  to  its  special  offices  ;  and  the 
proportion  of  the  vesicular  to  its  fibrous  material, 
according  as  mental  or  physical  vigor  is  to  be  ex- 
erted, find  various  illustration.  Thus  the  por- 
poise, an  exceedingly  active  animal,  in  a  dense 
medium,  has  a  large  weight  of  brain,  with  no  pre- 


104  THE   NERVOUS    SYSTEM. 

ponderance  of  gray  matter.  In  the  torpedo,  the 
medulla  oblongata  is  equal  to  all  the  rest  of  the 
brain,  but  this  is  the  centre  which  gives  rise  to  its 
peculiar  electric  shock.  So  also  special  senses  are 
developed  into  an  unusual  relative  importance  only 
in  connection  with  a  corresponding  size  of  their 
appropriate  ganglia.  The  sensory  and  optic  lobes 
in  many  of  the  lower  animals  are  relatively  very 
large.  In  the  carp,  the  optic  lobes  are  much  su- 
perior to  the  cerebral  hemispheres.  While  this 
may  not  indicate  any  unusual  power  of  vision,  it 
does  show  that  the  automatic  action  of  the  animal 
turns  largely  on  this  sense.  It  points  to  the  source 
of  stimuli  and  the  seat  of  reflex  action. 

Another  point  of  difference  in  the  cerebrum  in 
man,  indicating  a  decidedly  superior  functional 
activity  in  this  organ,  are  the  number  and  depth  of 
convolutions.  In  this  respect  there  is  steady  de- 
velopment as  we  pass  up  along  the  higher  members 
of  the  Vertebrata,  till,  in  man,  we  reach  a  maximum. 
These  convolutions,  with  the  dipping  of  the 
pia  mater  into  the  substance  of  the  brain,  are 
very  significant.  The  surface  of  the  brain  is  cor- 
respondingly enlarged,  and  the  enveloping  mem- 
brane bears  with  it,  in  its  abundant  "blood-vessels, 
the  blood  that  enriches  the  organ  and  stimulates  its 
activity.  In  reference  to  the  power  of  the  hemi- 
spheres, they  indicate  what  extent  of  cellular  surface 
does  in  the  lungs.  While  the  exact  pattern  of 
these  convolutions  is  not  of  moment,  "  other 
things  being  equal,  a  greater  number  and  depth 
of   fissures   indicate   a   greater   mental   or   bodily 


THE   OFFICE    OF   THE    CEREBRUM.  I05 

power,  and  the  actual  number  of  fissures  has  a  gen- 
eral functional  significance,  analogous  to  coils  of 
intestines  or  corrugations  of  mucous  membranes."* 
The  office  of  the  cerebrum  in  man,  and  its 
superiority  in  that  office,  find  decided  expression 
in  these  combined  facts,  without  our  being  able  to 
define  the  exact  value  that  attaches  to  any  of  them. 
In  the  cerebellum  and  cerebrum,  the  gray  matter  is 
exterior  to  the  white  matter,  overlying  it  as  a  heavy 
enveloping  surface.  In  ordinary  ganglia  the  ar- 
rangement is  the  reverse  of  this.  The  enclosed 
gray  matter  at  the  centre  of  the  white  fibrous  lines 
of  communication  seems  simply  to  combine  and 
redirect  the  forces  that  are  at  play  upon  it.  The 
greatly  extended  and  external  gray  matter  of  the 
cerebrum  seems  to  indicate  that,  as  the  seat  of  con- 
sciousness, it  is  not  merely  an  interior  point  of 
intersection  and  dispersion,  among  impulses  already 
completely  realized,  but  that  it  is  able  from  its  mani- 
fold convolutions  to  send  forth  the  supreme  and  rela- 
tively independent  impulses  of  thought  and  volition. 
A  kindred  significance  attaches  to  the  fact  that  it 
is  superinduced  on  the  ordinary  sensory  and  motor 
ganglia,  and,  with  no  independent  connections  with 
the  outside  world,  receives  its  external  incentives 
through  them,  and  sends  its  own  impulses  back 
upon  them.  These  subordinate  ganglia,  as  seen 
elsewhere  in  the  animal  kingdom,  are  quite  capa- 
ble of  the  lower  forms  of  coordination,  and  do  not 
require  the  support  of  the  superior  ganglia,  except 
as  a  conscious  and  voluntary  life  intervenes.     It  is 

*  Anatomical  Papers,  by  Burt  G.  Wilder,  p.  247. 


I06  THE   NERVOUS    SYSTEM. 

not  probable  that  the  cerebrum  is  simply  a  second 
massive  reverberating  organ,  brought  in  to  extend 
and  enforce  the  functional  activities  that  lie  below 
it.  This  the  cerebellum  may  well  enough  be  in 
connection  with  the  greatly  enlarged  coordination 
of  higher  life.  But  if  this  life  itself,  a  new  and 
measurably  independent  power,  has  no  existence, 
a  second  and  much  larger  organ  of  coordination  in 
lower  functions  can  hardly  be  called  for. 

The  relations  of  the  cerebrum,  taken  in  con- 
nection with  the  faculties  of  man,  seem  plainly  to 
express  the  fact  that  these  hemispheres  give  us  the 
first  term  on  the  material  side  in  the  inexplicable 
union  of  matter  and  mind,  that  by  and  through  them 
the  powers  of  thought  find  their  way  among  the 
forces  of  matter.  These  ganglia  have  thus  a  func- 
tional office  proportioned  to  their  preeminence. 
The  overshadowing  power  of  the  rational  life  in 
man  is  boldly  expressed  in  the  physical  relations  or 
language  of  these  hemispheres,  uniting  to  cover  and 
crown  all  the  ganglia  of  functional  and  animal  life 
beneath  them. 

There  is  very  much  special  knowledge  which 
we  may  well  wish  to  add  to  our  very  general  knowl- 
edge of  the  nervous  system  in  animals  and  man. 
We  are  sure  of  its  chief  functions ;  we  are  fairly 
certain  of  the  offices  of  its  primary  portions,  but  we 
have  very  little  knowledge  of  the  precise  way  in 
which  its  work  is  done,  or  of  the  interdependence  of 
the  several  parts  of  any  ganglia.  It  is  easy  to  mul- 
tiply mechanical  illustrations,  but  the  combination 
and  dispersion  of  stimuli  at  the  simplest  nervous 


THE   OFFICE    OF   THE    CEREBRUM.  ID/ 

centre  are  beyond  their  powers  of  explanation. 
There  is  still  a  decided  tendency  to  divide  up  in 
functions  the  larger  ganglia,  more  especially  the 
cerebrum,  and  to  assign  a  definite  duty  to  each  por- 
tion of  this  elaborate  organ.  This  effort  has  re- 
cently met,  especially  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Ferrier, 
with  some  success.  While  it  still  remains  true  that 
these  ganglia,  as  the  instruments  of  mind,  work  in  a 
way  wholly  inscrutable,  and  that  one  portion  can 
largely  replace  other  portions  of  the  hemispheres, 
it  has  also  been  made  plain  that  the  fibres  passing 
to  and  from  it  have  specialized  sensor  and  motor 
functions.  This  fact  puts  the  cerebrum  in  harmony 
with  the  nervous  mechanism  that  lies  below  it,  and 
seems  sufficiently  established  by  vivisection  and 
pathology.  Yet  philosophy  and  science  also,  at 
least  in  a  portion  of  its  special  laborers,  incline  to  the 
opinion  that  the  cerebrum  is,  in  some  indivisible 
way,  the  organ  of  mind  ;  that  intellectual  activity  is 
pervasive  and  controlling  in  the  brain  as  in  the  rest 
of  the  body.  "  I  am  more  and  more  inclined  to 
think,*'*  says  Prof.  Wilder,  "  that  a  cerebral  hemi- 
sphere acts  as  a  unit,  either  singly  or  with  its  fel- 
low." 

What,  then,  is  the  probable  relation  of  these  two 
facts,  that  inquiry  on  the  one  side  confirms  a  divis- 
ion of  offices  in  reference  to  the  body,  extending  to 
every  part  of  the  cerebrum  ;  and  that  every  effort  to 
locate  the  powers  of  mind  miscarries  }  Is  it  not  a 
relation,  the  exact  counterpart  of  the  relation  be- 
tween the  body  and   the  plastic  powers  we  term 

*  Anatomical  Papers,  by  Burt  G.  Wilder,  p,  247. 


I08  THE    NERVOUS    SYSTEM. 

life  ?  Distinct  organs  and  separate  functions  nei- 
ther subdivide  nor  localize  the  presiding  tendency, 
but  leave  it  fully  at  work  in  every  part  of  the 
body. 

We  are  to  bear  distinctly  in  mind  the  strictly 
organic  dependence  of  the  cerebrum  on  the  remain- 
der of  the  nervous  system,  remembering  that  it  is 
by  these  connections  alone  that  it  can  be  the  organ 
of  mind.  Completeness  and  precision  of  relation  are 
the  physical  preparation  for  perfect  control.  "  The 
cerebral  hemispheres  form  each  a  sort  of  hollow 
shell,  enclosing  and  enveloping  the  great  basal 
ganglia,  the  inner  walls  being  formed  in  great 
measure  by  the  hollow  cone  of  medullary  fibres  ra- 
diating in  all  directions  from  these  structures."* 
This  corona  radiata,  with  its  immense  assemblage 
of  diverging  fibres,  covered  and  contained  by  the 
gray  matter  of  the  cerebrum,  as  by  a  dome,  unites 
the  entire  inner  surface  of  the  hemispheres  with  the 
sensor  and  motor  mechanism  of  life,  the  powerful 
coordinating  ganglia  that  lie  below  them.  As 
every  office  of  communication  and  interchange 
through  this  inferior  portion  of  the  nervous  system 
is  specific,  with  its  own  circuits,  this  fact  necessi- 
tates the  same  division  of  service  in  the  cerebrum. 
The  general  regions  through  which  particular 
sensor  or  motor  tracks  take  their  way,  or  the  points 
at  which  they  originate,  have  doubtless  been  deter- 
mined by  Ferrier  with  proximate  correctness.  Till 
we  reach  the  cerebrum,  we  have  the  quasi-mechani- 
cal features  of  the  nervous  system,  and  these  cer- 

*  Functions  of  the  Brain,  p.  9. 


THE    OFFICE    OF   THE    CEREBRUM.  lOQ 

tainly  ought  to  complete  themselves  through  its 
every  member.  Any  sudden  interruption  would 
destroy  their  entire  significance,  and  put  it  out  of 
harmony  with  its  instruments. 

The  exterior  layers  of  the  cerebrum,  with  their  in- 
creasingly minute  vesicular  structure  as  we  approach 
the  surface,  with  their  extended  convolutions, — the 
last,  highest,  and  fullest  term  in  the  perfected  ner- 
vous system — still  remain,  however,  the  single  con- 
dition, the  undivided  organ,  of  conscious  life  in  its 
supreme  unity.  The  subtile  light  of  thought  plays 
an  ambient  flame  over  the  cerebrum,  or,  unlocking 
its  tense  forces,  sends  an  impulse  through  it  in  a 
way  as  inscrutable  as  mind  itself.  We  travel  by 
physical  connections  and  causal  dependencies  safely 
enough  till  we  reach  this  boundary  land,  but  here 
vision  fails  us,  and  we  are  left  on  the  verge  of  the 
material  world  without  a  single  outlying  premise. 
The  general  mastery  of  the  mind,  its  many  instru- 
ments, its  local  developments  in  them  and  by  them, 
remain  our  ultimate  truths.  Its  own  manifestations 
we  may  struggle  to  overlook  or  to  degrade  in  char- 
acter, but  to  the  rational  eye  they  have  always  been, 
and  will  remain,  the  language  of  free  thought,  the 
traces  of  spiritual  power. 

Ferrier,  like  others,  whose  attention  is  primarily 
directed  to  physical  connections,  who  approach 
mind  through  matter,  is  ready  to  push  his  conclu- 
sions beyond  his  data.  He  says,  "  We  have  reason 
for  believing  that  there  is,  in  company  with  all  our 
mental  processes,  an  unbroken  material  succession. 
From  the  ingress  of  a  sensation,  to  the  outgoing  re- 


no  THE    NERVOUS    SYSTEM. 

sponses  in  action,  the  mental  succession  is  not  for 
an  instant  dissevered  from  a  physical  succession."* 

"  The  primordial  elements  of  the  volitional  acts 
of  the  infant,  and  also  of  the  adult,  are  capable  of 
being  reduced  in  ultimate  physiological  analysis  to 
reaction  between  the  centres  of  sensation  and  those 
of  motion/'f 

This  is  a  conclusion,  in  its  bearing  on  our  high- 
est spiritual  powers,  in  advance  of  his  experiments 
by  its  entire  length.  To  the  completeness  of  the 
sensory  and  motor  circuits  even  in  their  passage 
through  the  cerebrum  he  is  entitled,  to  the  assertion 
that  our  conscious  and  voluntary  activities  are  in- 
cluded in  these  circuits  he  is  not  entitled.  The  same 
circuits  lie  in  lower  ganglia  and  are  often  completed 
in  them.  It  is  in  the  cerebrum  alone,  as  Ferrier  al- 
lows, that  a  new  element  enters,  that  of  conscious- 
ness. The  very  purpose  of  the  hemispheres  seems 
to  be  the  introduction  into  automatic  circuits  of 
voluntary  and  conscious  control.  To  make  the  ac- 
tion in  these  superadded  ganglia  identical  with  it 
in  the  lower  ganglia  is  to  rob  them  of  their  signif- 
icance. Indeed,  when  this  is  accompHshed,  when 
the  involuntary  has  by  repetition  been  transformed 
into  the  automatic,  the  circuit  is  narrowed  once 
more,  and  the  series  passed  over  to  the  lower  gang- 
lia in  which  it  can  be  completed  as  "  an  unbroken, 
material  succession."  In  other  words,  when  we 
have  an  unbroken  material  succession,  we  have  no 
longer  occasion  for  the  intervention  of  the  cere- 

*  Functions  of  the  Brain,  p.  256.  t  Ibid.  p.  282 


THE   OFFICE   OF    THE   CEREBRUM.  Ill 

brum.  The  very  intent  of  this  organ  is  in  some  in- 
scrutable way  to  introduce  the  new  element  of  con- 
scious activity,  and  modify  the  material  circuit 
by  it. 

The  destruction  of  the  cerebrum  interferes  only 
with  voluntary  action,  and  hence  affects  different 
forms  of  life  in  very  different  degrees,  according  to 
the  extent  to  which  organic  action  is  modified  and 
sustained  by  voluntary  effort.  In  man,  two  large 
ganglia,  the  optici  thalami  and  the  corpora  striata, 
are  found  in  the  closest  connection  with  the  cere- 
brum, ready  to  receive  and  maintain  the  coordina- 
tions established  by  it,  or  to  restore  them  again  to 
it  for  its  further  modification.  "  The  more  the  con- 
trol of  the  limbs  depends  in  the  first  instance,  and 
continues  to  be  dependent,  on  voluntary  acquisition, 
the  more  does  the  destruction  of  the  cortical  motor 
centres  cause  paralysis  of  movement.  Hence  in 
man  and  the  monkey,  in  whom  volition  is  pre- 
dominant, and  automaticity  plays  only  a  subordinate 
part  in  the  motor  activities,  destruction  of  the  mo- 
tor centres  of  the  cortex  causes  paralysis  of  a  very 
marked  character.  In  proportion,  however,  as 
movements  at  first  requiring  volitional  education, 
tend  to  become  organized  or  rendered  automatic, 
the  less  are  they  affected  by  injury  to  the  cortical 
centres.  Hence,  in  the  dog,  in  which  the  acquisition, 
of  the  control  of  the  limbs  is  speedy,  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  cortical  centres  produces  a  much  less 
marked  effect."*  Still  less  are  the  actions  of  the 
rabbit   and  the  frog  modified  by  the  loss  of  the 

*  Functions  of  the  Brain,  p.  213. 


112  THE   NERVOUS   SYSTEM. 

cerebrum.  The  plain  conclusions  then  are,  that 
automatic  action,  or  the  *^  unbroken  material  suc- 
cession "  of  which  Ferrier  speaks,  is  the  character- 
istic of  lower  ganglia,  and  that  the  very  preemi- 
nence of  the  cerebrum  is  that  it  breaks  in  on  this 
material  sequence  with  new  and  controlling  terms. 
These  facts  involve  two  kinds  of  circuits,  one  with 
and  one  without  the  voluntary  element.  To  affirm 
the  identity  of  the  two  in  their  leading  character- 
istics is  to  lose  the  key  of  explanation. 

Accident  and  disease,  issuing  in  a  sensible  loss 
of  the  substance  of  the  cerebrum,  yet  with  no  well 
defined  effect  on  the  powers  of  mind,  indicate  that 
our  intellectual  faculties  are  not  local  functions. 
Having  given  the  celebrated  case  in  which  a  bar  of 
iron  was  driven  quite  through  the  top  of  the  head 
with  no  serious  injury  following  to  the  mind  of  the 
patient  after  recovery,  Ferrier  proceeds  :  "  Numer- 
ous other  cases  might  be  cited  where  considerable 
portions  of  the  brain-substance,  protruding  through 
fractures  of  the  skull,  have  been  removed  by  sur- 
geons without  causing  evil  results  or  apparent  men- 
tal deficiency."* 

Aphasia,  occasioned  by  a  local  disturbance  of 
the  brain,  leads  us  to  the  same  conclusion.  The 
patient  is  embarrassed  in  uttering  words,  and  not 
in  the  mental  conceptions  which  accompany  them. 
The  organs  of  speech  yield  the  wrong  sounds.  The 
mechanical,  the  automatic  circuit  has  been  broken, 
and  the  mind,  though  in  full  power,  cannot  send 
through  the  impulse  of  articulation.     This  fact  ex- 

*  Functions  of  the  Brain,  p.  126. 


THE    OFFICE    OF    THE    CEREBRUM.  113 

hibits  clearly,  in  a  single  direction,  what  is  true  in 
all  directions  ;  the  mind  lets  drop  in  a  blind  way  its 
purposes  on  the  mechanism  below  ;  and  is  then  at  its 
mercy  for  their  fulfilment.  That  the  circuit  can  be 
checked,  and  the  conscious  conception  remain,  in- 
dicates the  radical  division  of  the  two. 

Ferrier  immediately  proceeds  to  make  state- 
ments inconsistent  with  his  first  assertion  of  an  un- 
broken material  succession.  "  The  brain  as  an  or- 
gan of  motion  and  sensation,  or  presentative  con- 
sciousness, is  a  single  organ  composed  of  two 
halves ;  the  brain  as  an  organ  of  ideation,  rep- 
resentative consciousness,  is  a  dual  organ,  each 
hemisphere  complete  in  itself.  When  one  hemi- 
sphere is  removed  or  destroyed  by  disease,  motion 
and  sensation  are  abolished  unilaterally,  but  mental 
operations  are  still  capable  of  being  carried  on  in 
their  completeness  through  the  agency  of  the  one 
hemisphere."*  But  if  the  mind  can  be  loosened 
from  all  specific  physical  connections  in  one  hemi- 
sphere without  loss,  by  a  transfer  of  paralysis  it 
might  have  been  loosened  in  the  same  manner  in 
the  other  hemisphere  with  the  same  results  ;  and 
this  proves  that  the  mind  has  no  necessary  specific 
cminections,  that  it  is  not  involved  in  any  of  its 
powers  as  a  fixed  term  in  any  circuits,  but  is  de- 
pendent in  a  general  variable  way  on  all  circuits  as 
volitional  instruments.  The  only  merit  of  the  ma- 
terialistic view  is  that  it  involves  the  mental  ele- 
ment exactly  and  constantly  in  the  physical  one. 
If  it  yields  the  least  at  this  point,  the  whole  ground 

*  Functions  of  the  Brain,  p.  257. 
8 


114  THE   NERVOUS   SYSTEM. 

drops  from  under  it.  The  brain  cannot  be  a  single 
motor  and  sensory  organ,  and  a  dual  conscious  one, 
unless  we  are  willing  to  admit  that  conscious  states 
are  not  in  exact  correspondence  with  physical  ones. 
Again  Ferrier  speaks  of  the  power  of  concen- 
trating attention,  and  of  inhibitory  centres  :  "  The 
inhibitory  centres  are  not  equally  developed  or 
educated  in  all,  nor  are  they  equally  developed  in 
the  same  individual  in  respect  to  particular  tenden- 
cies to  action."  *  He  even  proceeds  to  localize 
these  centres  in  "  the  frontal  lobes  of  the  brain." 
This  language  can  hardly  have  a  meaning  under 
the  doctrine  of  unbroken  material  successions. 
Such  successions  have  their  sufficient  and  final 
physical  causes  ;  they  can  neither  be  intensified  by 
attention  nor  arrested  by  inhibition.  Attention 
and  inhibition  are  not  physical  connections  but 
spiritual  powers.  Successions  may  concur  with 
each  other,  or  contravene  each  other,  stimuli  may 
add  or  subtract  themselves  in  the  final  result ;  but 
mind  alone  can  hasten  or  delay  action,  can  com- 
mand or  forbid  it.  Ferrier  has  expelled  this 
supreme  power  only  to  revive  it  again  under  the 
new  title,  "  centres  of  inhibition."  The  scientist 
is  fond  of  doing  this.  He  is  quick  to  accuse  the 
psychologist  of  deceiving  himself  with  words ;  but 
the  illusion  is  more  general  than  the  accusation 
implies.  Words  which  belong  to  the  mind  only 
are  first  carried  over  in  a  figurative  way  to  the 
brain,  and   then   shortly   regarded   as   the  literal 

♦  Functions  of  the  Brain,  p.  283. 


PHYSICAL   EXPLANATIONS.  II 5 

equivalents  of  intellectual  facts.  Thus  we  bridge 
the  chasm  between  matter  and  mind  with  a  word- 
structure,  which  has  secure  foundations  at  nei- 
ther extremity ;  we  turn  the  facts  of  the  brain  into 
figures  of  speech,  and  we  know  nothing  of  their 
correspondence  with  the  mental  states  they  are 
made  to  represent.  Centres  of  inhibition  mean 
volition,  and  must  either  restore  volition  or  quite 
fail  of  their  purpose. 

It  must  always  be  the  supreme  objection  to 
physical  coherences  as  explanations  of  mental  pro- 
cesses that  they  do  not  expound,  but  annihilate, 
the  phenomena  offered  to  them.  Mental  connec- 
tions and  mental  activities  disappear  before  them 
as  the  impotent  shadows  of  physical  forces.  The 
integrity  of  the  very  process  of  thought  by  which 
we  construct  the  theory  is  taken  away  by  the  the- 
ory itself.  There  is  certainly  as  yet  no  proof,  and 
there  hardly  can  be  any  proof,  that  every  idea,  pur- 
pose, feeling  is  the  product  of  some  specific  state 
of  special  vesicles  of  the  brain.  Phrenology,  as  a 
local  division  and  distribution  of  mental  processes 
throughout  the  cerebrum,  has  been  losing  ground 
from  the  beginning,  but  this  supposition  as  a  local- 
i2»ng  tendency  goes  much  farther.  Under  this 
view,  any  injury  to  the  brain  should  carry  with  it 
as  distinct  a  mischief  as  an  accident  in  a  toy  shop. 
The  experiments  which  are  thought  to  look  to 
such  a  conclusion  are  inexpressibly  coarse  and  in- 
adequate for  their  purpose.  We  cannot  touch  so 
deftly  and  harmoniously  the  ultimate  vesicles  of 
the  brain  as  to  secure  their  normal  activity,  nor 


Il6  THE   NERVOUS    SYSTEM. 

could  we,  if  this  were  possible,  read  the  cipher  in 
which  their  functional  action  is  written.  Yet  this 
assumption  of  an  exact  equivalence  between  a 
physical  and  a  mental  state,  wholly  in  advance  as 
it  is  of  our  knowledge,  is  involved  in  the  confident 
assertion  of  unbroken  material  successions  in  the 
cerebrum.  The  logical  outcome  of  this  statement 
is  the  complete  subordination  of  mind  to  matter. 

Our  most  general  conclusions,  those  in  which 
all  opinions  best  harmonize,  are  our  safest  ones ; 
and  the  views  that  we  have  to  offer  involve  alone 
these  first  principles.  We  have  traced  the  growth 
and  the  offices  of  the  nervous  system  sufficiently 
for  our  purposes.  We  started  with  it  as  a  very 
simple  instrument  brought  in  to  aid  and  further 
organic  relations  already  established.  We  traced  a 
few  of  the  steps  of  development  by  which,  on  the 
one  hand,  it  has  become  the  avenue  of  very  varied 
and  extended  impulses,  and  on  the  other  has  coor- 
dinated them  into  correspondingly  complicated  ac- 
tion. We  observed  the  increasing  unity  keeping 
pace  with  the  increasing  complexity  of  these  proc- 
esses, a  unity  which  expresses  and  establishes 
itself  in  cephalization.  We  saw,  as  the  last  and 
highest  function  of  the  nervous  system,  a  new  life 
by  the  introduction  of  consciousness  superinduced 
on  the  old  life,  yet  precisely  in  the  line  of  its  ex- 
pansion. We  saw  also  by  the  slow  growth  of  the 
hemispheres  a  special  instrument  set  apart  for  this 
supreme  function.  In  man  this  movement  of  chief 
interest  to  us  has  passed  forward  to  its  completion. 
The  overshadowing  cerebrum  crowns,  covers,  con- 


THE  OFFfCE  OF  THE  CEREBRUM.      11/ 

trols  all  the  mesencephalic  ganglia ;  the  hemi- 
spheres of  thought  gather  on  their  inner  surface 
the  innumerable  motor  and  sensor  fibres  of  the 
corona  by  which  to  rule  the  physical  world,  and 
open  their  outer  surfaces  to  the  free  impulses  of 
mind,  that  spiritual  power  that  does  its  work  with- 
out betraying  its  presence,  that  touches  the  keys 
of  action  till  every  fibre  pulsates  with  force,  yet 
remains  itself  the  same  invisible,  spiritual  agency. 


L 1  li  a  A  i. 

UNlVKIiSJTV   (^1, 
CAIJj-O..;,.  • 


CHAPTER   V. 

ANIMAL   LIFE   AS   ORGANIC. 

With  the  brief  sketch  now  given  of  the  ner- 
vous system  in  its  gradations  and  gradual  enlarge- 
ments before  us,  we  are  better  able  to  understand 
its  accumulation  of  functions,  the  support  higher 
functions  receive  from  lower  ones,  and  the  modifi- 
cations they  impose  upon  lower  ones.  The  first 
office  of  a  nervous  system  is  the  broader  and  more 
rapid  diffusion  of  stimulus  with  a  correspondingly 
quicker  response  in  action.  A  single  ganglion 
with  its  branching  nerves  obviously  accomplishes 
this  simplest  purpose,  while  multiplied  ganglia 
with  extended  connections,  increasing  closeness  of 
dependence  on  each  other,  and  more  complete  cen- 
tralization, carry  forward  this  function  to  its  high- 
est form  in  man.  In  him  many  more  impulses  and 
much  slighter  ones,  if  we  regard  the  whole  circle 
of  action,  are  diffused  rapidly  through  the  organ- 
ism, and,  though  often  suffering  arrest  in  con- 
sciousness, issue  sooner  or  later  in  modified  con- 
duct. 

The  second  function  of   the  nervous   system, 
growing  out  of  this  its  first  function,  is  that   of 


COORDINATION.  II 9 

coordination.  Speedy  and  general  movements 
make  a  more  extended  harmony  of  action  at  once 
possible  and  necessary.  This  office  the  gray  mat- 
ter of  the  ganglia  in  some  unsearchable  way  per- 
forms. The  impulses  which  come  to  these  centres 
are  not  simply  reflected  back  in  a  mechanical  way 
through  all  open  connections ;  each  case  is  special- 
ized, and  fitting  partial  and  concurrent  movements 
made  to  follow.  We  cannot,  in  imagination,  pre- 
sent the  central  ganglia  as  points  of  intersection 
for  crossing  lines,  or  as  reservoirs  at  which  force 
is  accumulated  and  thence  distributed,  but  as  con- 
trolled by  a  plastic  power  that  in  a  variable  way 
redirects  the  stimuli  according  to  the  purpose  to 
be  subserved  by  them.  The  frog  from  which  the 
brain  has  been  taken  will  strive  for  a  time  to  re- 
move an  irritation  by  one  limb ;  failing  of  this,  he 
will  make  the  same  effort  by  the  limb  of  the  oppo- 
site side. 

This  harmony  of  effort  becomes  the  more  com- 
plete and  wonderful,  as  different  ganglia,  quite  re- 
moved from  each  other  and  with  very  distinct 
offices,  take  part  in  it ;  as  the  whole  range  of 
activity,  organic,  sensational  and  motor,  conscious 
and  unconscious,  are  involved  in  it.  This  coordi- 
nation passes  oh  in  perfection,  till  consciousness, 
with  its  supplementary  processes  and  the  widest 
range  of  senses  and  the  most  diversified  muscular 
activity,  and  complete  organic  forces,  stand  ready, 
like  a  waiting  engine,  to  be  brought  forward  by  the 
mind  in  instant,  urgent  exertion.  Yet  this  nervous 
system  is  not  a  dead  but  a  living  instrument  in 


I20  ANIMAL   LIFE    AS   ORGANIC. 

coordination ;  not  one  functionally  complete  in 
itself,  but  wholly  dependent  on  the  life  it  ex- 
presses. 

A  third  function  resting  on  the  two  now  men- 
tioned is  that  of  organic  unity.  Coordination 
unites  motions  in  single  efforts,  makes  action  for 
the  moment  complete  and  concurrent.  Organic 
unity  does  much  more  than  this.  It  unites  these 
actions  serially  through  long  periods  of  time  in 
carrying  forward  the  continuous  processes  of  life. 
It  permanently  combines  and  simultaneously  modi- 
fies very  different  functions  of  organs  scattered 
through  the  body,  subjects  them  to  passing  condi- 
tions of  health  and  strength,  and  unites  them  in 
one  complex  process  of  development.  It  main- 
tains and  expresses  inherent  tendencies,  laws  of 
growth  and  of  inheritance,  which  are  the  unwrit- 
ten constitution  of  every  animal.  The  nervous 
system  thus  ministers  to  and  administers  that  con- 
tinuous organic  growth  by  which  the  individual 
and  the  species  each  become  a  mobile  unit,  a  fixed 
yet  flowing,  a  simple  yet  infinitely  complex,  power. 
A  single  ganglion  can  do  comparatively  little  in 
forwarding  this  organic  process,  a  process  that  is 
found  in  a  narrow  yet  a  perfectly  plain  form  in  the 
vegetable.  Life  in  the  plant  does  the  same  in- 
scrutable work  as  in  the  animal.  The  organic 
unity  is  simply  carried  on  by  the  ministration  of 
the  nervous  system  to  more  completeness. 

The  multiplication  of  ganglia  and  their  connec- 
tion in  one  system,  combining  many  forms  of  mus- 
cular effort,  as  in  the  varied  exertions  of  attack  and 


COORDINATION.  121 

defense  ;  the  addition  of  special  senses  by  which 
the  circle  of  incitements  is  greatly  enlarged ;  the 
sympathetic  dependence  of  the  nutritive  and  respi- 
ratory processes  on  other  activities,  concur  in  the 
enlargement  of  this  function  of  organic  unity. 
These  two  forms  of  coordination,  concurrent  and 
consecutive,  the  one  harmonizing  immediate  effort, 
the  other  uniting  all  effort  in  continuous  growth, 
arise  together,  are  synchronous  directions  of  one 
development,  whose  primary  instrument  is  the  ner- 
vous system.  A  marked  step  forward  is  made 
when  the  anterior  ganglia  overshadow  all  ethers, 
and  we  have  first  an  anticipation  of  cephalization 
in  the  ganglia  which  gather  about  the  oesophagus, 
and  later,  cephalization  itself.  The  head,  with  its 
numerous  ganglia,  becomes  a  visible  centre  of  im- 
pressions, and  these  are  combined  progressively  as 
well  as  diffused  laterally  through  the  body.  The 
greatest  step  in  organic  unity  is  indicated  by  the 
introduction  of  the  cerebellum  and  cerebrum. 
This  movement  completes  itself  in  the  steady  en- 
largement of  the  cerebrum  as  the  seat  of  conscious 
life,  till  we  have  in  man  a  double  yet  a  single  coor- 
dination, that  of  the  body  and  that  of  the  mind. 
Here  are  a  physical  and  a  mental  development 
contemporaneous  with  each  other;  an  involuntary 
and  unconscious  unity,  and  a  voluntary  and  con- 
scious one  which  lies  above  it  as  the  clear  heavens 
over  the  earth,  and  these  two,  astonishingly  sepa- 
rate, yet  inseparable,  make  up  the  man. 

But  this  leads  us  to  the  fourth  function  of  the 
nervous  system,  which,  while  it  rests  on  previous 


122  ANIMAL  LIFE  AS   ORGANIC. 

ones,  especially  that  of  organic  unity,  greatly  en- 
larges them,  and  is  something  more  than  they,  to 
wit,  conscious  life.  We  must  dwell  for  a  Httle  on 
this  function  in  its  relation  to  previous  ones,  for  on 
a  knowledge  of  this  relation  must  depend  the  suc- 
cess of  our  entire  discussion.  Conscious  life 
brings  increase,  modification  and  a  positive  incre- 
ment of  its  own  to  lower  functions,  already  well 
established  and  carrying  forward  by  themselves  a 
very  independent  and  complete  work. 

Life,  as  a  manifestation,  may  be  divided  into 
two  forms,  automatic  life  and  conscious  life.  They 
express  the  different  conditions  under  which  the 
vital  power  a  ts.  The  second  rests  upon  and  en- 
larges the  first.  Automatic  life  constantly  exists 
by  itself,  never  conscious  life,  at  least  within  our 
experience.  Yet  conscious  life,  when  it  is  added 
to  automatic  life,  is  a  new  element,  passes  more 
and  more  into  the  ascendency,  and  ultimately  sinks 
the  automatic  life  into  ministration  to  itself. 

Automatic  life  has  two  forms  or  stages,  func- 
tional or  organic  life,  adaptive  or  instinctive  life. 
The  first  turns  primarily  on  the  interior  economy 
of  the  living  thing  ;  the  second  on  its  secondary 
relations  to  the  environment,  its  special  mastery 
over  its  conditions.  Corscious  life  has  also  two 
stages,  associative  life  and  rational  life,  a  life  of 
experience  correlated  in  memory,  and  a  life  of  ex- 
perience correlated  in  reason.  These  four  forms 
of  life  are  by  no  means  separable  from  each  other 
with  definite  bounds,  much  less  as  distinct  facts. 
Each   higher   one   grows   out   of  the  lower  ones. 


SIMPLEST   FORMS    OF    LIFE.  123 

modifies  them,  is  modified  and  sustained  by  them, 
disappears  insensibly  as  we  pass  downward,  and 
arises  insensibly  as  we  pass  upward.  Yet  the 
four  forms  do  not  lie  on  equal  terms  in  the  line  of 
development.  The  first  and  the  last  are  more  per- 
manent than  the  two  intermediate  ones. 

Organic  life  starts  in  the  simplest  forms,  indeed 
may  be  said  to  start  without  form,  without  specific 
functions,  as  in  protoplasm,  and  in  its  first  mani- 
festation to  issue  in  functions  and  forms.*  All 
through  the  vegetable  kingdom  we  have  organic 
life,  passing  up  into  increasing  complexity.  Its 
great  offices  are  there  outlined.  Organs  are  set 
apart  to  specific  offices,  and  are  united  in  one 
complex  activity,  which  ministers  to  each  sepa- 
rately and  to  all  collectively.  Thus  the  plant  is 
truly  organized,  combines  many  forces  in  wonder- 
ful energy,  puts  these  by  a  definite  relation  to  its 
environment  in  an  external  harmony  akin  with 
their  internal  harmony  and  ministering  to  it,  and 
passes  in  descent  these  complex  plastic  powers  as 
life  from  parent  to  offspring. 

Organic  life  does  this  work  more  completely 
higher  up;  but  does  nothing  essentially  different 
in  kind  or  more  wonderful.  It  simply  makes  its 
material  more  pliant,  multiplies  its  offices,  and 
so  gives  successive  grades  of  foundation  for  later 
stages  of  development. 

*  Dr.  Foster  in  his  Text-book  of  Physiology  enumerates  these 
six  organic  properties  of  simple  protoplasm,  (i)  it  is  contractile; 
(2)  it  is  irritable  ;  (3)  it  is  receptive  and  assimilative  ;  (4)  it  is  met- 
abolic and  secretory ;  (5)  it  is  respiratory ;  (6)  it  is  reproductive. 


124  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS    ORGANIC. 

Nothing  in  living  things  can  be  understood  with- 
out this  organic  power.  It  is  the  very  pith  of  the 
whole  procedure,  and  is  akin  to  what  lies  below  it ; 
first,  to  the  constructive  forces  which  build  the 
snow-flake,  or  shape  the  crystal  tree  on  the  win- 
dow-pane ;  secondly,  to  the  forces  that  lower  down 
act  as  affinities  and  attractions,  and  so  give  the  first 
elements  of  order. 

The  organic  life  includes  the  adjustment  of 
organs  in  office,  form,  position  and  in  interaction, 
to  each  other  and  to  one  living  product  unfolding 
itself  in  growth  ;  and  also  their  momentary  adjust- 
ment to  external  conditions,  so  far  as  this  is  directly 
involved  in  this  evolution.  This  last  adjustment 
to  the  conditions  of  the  environment  has  many 
gradations,  and  in  its  successive  phases  gives 
occasion  to  organic,  instinctive,  associative  and 
rational  life.  An  organ  as  an  organ  may  be  called 
on  to  deal  directly  with  an  external  element,  as 
leaves  with  air  and  light,  roots  with  soil  and  mois- 
ture, the  lungs  with  the  atmosphere,  and  the 
stomach  with  food.  Or  an  organ  may  deal  with 
elements  already  within  the  system,  and  that  have 
been  modified  by  the  action  of  previous  organs. 
Thus  the  inner  layer  of  the  bark  is  active  in 
growth  ;  the  processes  of  absorption,  filtration  and 
secretion  go  on  in  the  animal.  Or  an  organ  like 
the  heart  contributes  mechanically  to  the  transfer 
of  material.  Here  are  three  grades  of  dependence 
on  external  elements  :  that  of  organs  which  deal 
directly  with  external  elements  ;  that  of  organs 
that  deal  with  material  already  modified  by  previous 


ORGANIC   ACTION.  12$ 

vital  action  ;  and  that  of  organs  which  aid  in  the 
interior  transfer  of  material.  These  functions  are 
all  strictly  organic,  imply  a  plastic  power  which 
exactly  discriminates  qualities  and  relations,  care- 
fully modifies  material,  skilfully  uses  it,  and  per- 
forms these  offices  by  distinct  organs,  working  for 
common  ends,  both  immediate  and  remote.  This 
first  circle  of  action  is  the  organic  circle,  and  passes 
by  insensible  gradations  into  outer  circles  of  more 
indirect  ministration.  These  fundamental  proc- 
esses start  at  the  very  beginning,  in  a  rudimentary 
obscure  way,  and  go  forward,  built  up  around  the 
same  centre,  with  increasing  complexity  and  com- 
pleteness, to  the  very  end.  Far  on  in  their  devel- 
opment, the  nervous  system  becomes  their  chief 
instrument  in  rapid  and  harmonious  action.  But 
they  have  reached  this  point  none  the  less  through 
long  spaces  with  no  nervous  system  whatever.  In 
a  general  way,  the  direct  appropriation,  distribu- 
tion and  use  of  material  in  growth  by  the  living 
thing  is  the  office  of  organic  life.  On  this  first 
combination  of  functions,  there  begins  early  to  be 
induced  a  second,  arising  from  the  fact  that  food, 
the  material  of  growth,  is  not  for  any  kind  of  life 
evenly  distributed,  and  hence  must  be  sought  after. 
Plants  require  their  own  favoring  locahties,  and 
have  limited  means  of  seeking  them  and  of  distri- 
bution in  them.  Though  the  lower  animals  are  as 
fixed  as  plants,  mobility  rapidly  increases  as  we 
pass  upward,  and  gives  occasion  to  new  and  more 
external  forms  of  activity.  With  this  provision 
which  the  animal  makes  for  its  own  nourishment 


126  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS    ORGANIC. 

concurs  also  the  provision  in  various  directions 
which  it  is  called  on  to  make  for  its  offspring. 
These  secondary  adaptations  to  its  circumstances 
give  occasion  to  the  first  enlargements  of  organic 
life. 

We  have  in  the  plant  discriminating  action,  by 
which,  within  a  narrow  range,  it  fits  itself  to  this 
inequality  of  conditions.  The  plumule  seeks  the  air 
and  the  light,  the  radicle  the  soil  and  the  darkness ; 
the  tree  in  the  forest  sends  out  its  branches  to- 
ward the  strongest  light,  and  its  roots  toward  the 
most  nutritious  areas.  There  is  a  certain  effort 
set  up  in  behalf  of  the  best  conditions  of  growth 
within  its  narrow  field.  In  various  other  ways,  also, 
as  we  have  sufficiently  shown,  in  its  leaves,  ten- 
drils, twining  and  flowering,  it  directly  adjusts  it- 
self to  its  circumstances,  and  takes  on  a  secondary 
activity  that  favors  the  organic  life. 

The  offshoots  of  plants,  as  stolons,  suckers  and 
runners,  are  vital  methods  of  distribution,  by  which 
the  young  plant  receiving  a  new  position  secures 
food.  They  are  a  movement  by  which  the  parent- 
plant  institutes  in  its  immediate  environment  what 
we  may  figuratively  call  an  active  search  for  a  new 
centre.  The  same  is  true  of  the  plant  in  the  dis- 
tribution of  seeds.  There  are  very  various  and 
very  general  means  by  which  seeds,  directly  or  in- 
directly, are  cast  into  new  soil,  more  or  less  re- 
mote from  the  parent  plant,  while  this  scattering 
of  the  seed  in  search  of  an  open  soil  is  frequently 
secured  by  an  adjustment  of  the  plant  to  the  me- 
chanical conditions  about  it,  so  that  the  seed  may 


PLASTIC   POWER   OF    PLANTS.  12/ 

float  on  the  air  or  on  the  water  to  its  new  locality, 
or  be  borne  thither  by  animals.  The  plant  occa- 
sionally, as  in  the  Geranium  and  the  Impatiens, 
sows  its  seeds  directly  by  its  own  effort,  ordered 
as  an  organic  power. 

The  plant  may,  also,  as  we  have  seen,  directly 
capture  its  food  by  organic  action.  The  whole 
process  of  preparation,  decoy  and  seizure,  exhibited 
in  a  thousand  forms  in  the  animal,  is  summarized 
in  the  plant  as  an  organic  function. 

The  plastic  power  of  the  plant  maintains,  then, 
all  activity  within  the  plant  which  is  necessary  to 
growth.  It  selects  food  from  the  material  at  hand, 
assimilates  it,  distributes  it  to  the  points  of  growth, 
and  builds  itself  up  by  it  in  a  living  way.  In  a 
narrow  circle  it  does  more  than  this.  It  seeks  the 
stimulating  agents,  the  nutritive  conditions,  in  its 
immediate  surroundings,  and  by  direct  appropria- 
tion pushes  forward  its  growth.  It  provides  through 
its  progeny  for  a  larger  distribution  of  its  life, 
and  a  more  extended  search  for  food.  Again,  as 
a  purely  organic  function,  in  full  anticipation  of  the 
most  recondite  processes  of  higher  life,  it  forms  its 
seeds  and  by  them  transmits  its  own  qualities. 
The  law  of  descent  is  here  in  force,  though  not 
with  the  same  fulness  as  in  portions  of  the  animal 
kingdom.  The  seeds  of  plants  in  some  instances 
transmit  with  less  certainty  the  secondary  charac- 
teristics of  the  parent  stalk  than  do  the  young  of 
animals.  In  compensation  for  this  the  plant  has 
more  variety  in  its  methods  of  transmission.  The 
twig,  though  grafted  into  a  new  stalk,  and  fed  by 


128  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS    ORGANIC 

alien  sap,  is  faithful  in  every  particular  to  its  own 
fruit.  This  is  a  striking  instance  of  inscrutable 
organic  power,  a  law  of  relation,  to  be  interpreted 
only  by  that  intangible  coherence  of  method  which 
makes  life  to  be  life  in  each  department. 

This  organic  life  of  the  plant,  though  pushing 
in  so  many  directions,  is  greatly  enlarged  in  the 
animal.  Starting  with  processes  not  to  be  distin- 
guished from  those  of  the  vegetable,  it  advances 
by  slight  increments  and  with  no  change  of  base 
up  to  that  high  form  of  it  we  find  in  the  Vertebrata. 
When  the  nervous  system,  which  is  to  become  the 
controlling  feature  of  animal  organic  life,  enters, 
it  does  so  in  a  most  elementary  form.  It  takes 
upon  itself  no  new  function,  but  simply  facilitates 
the  discharge  of  old  ones.  All  the  way  on  it  holds 
the  same  relation  to  previous  processes.  It  slowly 
works  its  way  into  the  plastic  power,  and  becomes 
to  it  more  and  more  the  primary  means  of  ex- 
pression. It  builds  on  the  organic  structure  already 
present,  facilitates  functions,  modifies  them,  and 
slowly  enlarges  them  in  their  application.  This 
steady  development  of  functions,  their  primary  re- 
lation to  organic  life,  their  later  secondary  relation 
to  it  through  the  mediation  of  the  nervous  system, 
and  their  subsequent  expansion  by  the  instinctive 
life,  and  appropriation  by  associative  and  rational 
life — these  are  the  data  of  comparative  psychology. 
We  shall  find  it  impossible  to  separate  these 
phases  of  development  from  each  other,  to  divide 
the  organic  life  of  the  animal  from  the  organic 
life  below  it,  or  from  the  higher  forms  of  life  that  in 


COMPLETENESS    OF    ORGANIC   LIFE.  1 29 

turn  spring  from  it.  These  phases  of  growth  are 
not  less  real  and  important  as  marking  progress  be- 
cause we  cannot  separate  them  each  from  each, 
nor  indicate  exactly  the  point  at  which  they  arise,nor 
arrange  them  serially,  except  in  reference  to  their 
full  manifestations.  The  actions  and  reactions  are 
so  many  and  constant  in  a  living  thing,  that  de- 
velopment in  one  direction  necessitates  develop- 
ment in  other  directions ;  and  all  development, 
while  springing  out  of  the  ground  already  occu- 
pied, proceeds  at  once  to  modify  and  enlarge  it. 
The  nervous  system,  as  a  new  instrument  at  the 
disposal  of  the  constructive  tendency,  takes  the 
relations  already  established,  puts  upon  them  its 
own  new  conditions,  and  so  carries  forward  the 
organic  life  into  a  wonderful  complexity  of  depend- 
encies and  exactness  of  mutual  ministrations. 

We  draw  attention  in  this  unfolding  of  the 
organic  life  through  a  nervous  system  to  the  com- 
plete, immediate  interaction  of  all  its  parts.  We 
need  to  be  impressed  in  detail  with  this  automatic 
completeness  of  our  organic  functions,  in  order  that 
we  may  comprehend  the  part  they  play  in  our  higher 
life. 

Take  the  passage  of  food  through  the  system. 
It  is  in  the  lower  forms  of  animal  life  selected  in 
kind  and  quantity  by  a  constitutional  impulse  or 
appetite.  Brought  within  the  reach  of  the  organic 
movement,  it  is  automatically  swallowed,  churned  in 
digestion  automatically,  passed  through  the  intes- 
tines, and  so  out  of  the  system,  by  a  self-sufficient 
method.      The  food  itself,  by   virtue    of  its  very 


130  ANIMAL    LIFE   AS    ORGANIC. 

presence,  supplies  in  every  stage  of  progress  the 
exact  stimulus  to  the  nervous  system  needful  for 
the  continuation  of  the  process  of  consumption. 
Thus,  this  system  mediates  between  the  causes  and 
the  effects,  and  the  muscles,  acted  on  by  the  facts 
of  the  case  as  an  immediate  positive  incitement, 
carry  the  work  automatically  forward  to  its  com- 
pletion. This  nervous  stimulus,  throughout  an 
unconscious  term  whose  very  mode  of  being  is  un- 
known to  us,  expresses  each  specific  condition,  and 
acts  directly  on  the  muscles  and  other  organs  in- 
volved, to  carry  forward  the  process  of  digestion  in 
its  mechanical  and  its  chemical  agencies,  in  its  ap- 
propriations and  in  its  rejections.  Whatever 
modifications  of  method  arise,  there  are  correspond- 
ing modifications  of  stimuli,  and  the  movement  still 
goes  forward  in  the  darkness  of  purely  physical 
forces.  If  digestion  in  the  fowl  is  aided  by  gravel 
stones,  then  it  seeks  and  devours  these  as  certainly 
as  it  does  food.  If  the  animal  ruminates,  then  it 
restores  the  food  to  the  mouth  by  a  movement  as 
mechanical  as  that  by  which  it  swallows  it.  In  con- 
nection with  this  purely  organic  action,  which  we 
may  believe  proceeds  in  the  lower  animals  without 
any  consciousness,  and  in  much  the  larger  share  of 
its  terms  is  without  consciousness  even  in  man, 
there  are  established,  as  life  develops,  adjunct 
processes  which  may  be  wholly  voluntary  or  par- 
tially so.  The  securing  of  food  by  man,  its  selec- 
tion and  preparation,  are  thrown  on  the  judgment 
and  will,  while  its  mastication,  as  a  condition  of 
farther  discrimination  and  of  pleasure,  mingles  the 


ITS   AUTOMATIC    CHARACTER.  I3I 

voluntary  with  the  involuntary,  the  latter  predomin- 
ating. In  the  higher  animals  there  is  the  same 
union  of  the  two  concurrent  elements,  the  automatic 
gaining  ground  at  every  step  downward.  The  un- 
conscious life  is  thus  the  basis  of  the  conscious  life 
in  three  respects.  Life  is,  first,  far  advanced  by  a 
purely  automatic  action  ;  second,  it  at  length  leaves 
secondary,  outlying  offices  to  be  taken  up  by  volun- 
tary effort ;  and,  third,  the  automatic  process  re- 
mains to  the  very  end  the  substance  of  that  organic 
system  to  which  the  conscious  action  ministers,  and 
on  which  it  is  perpetually  expended.  Very  little 
consciousness  in  man  attends  digestion  after  the 
food  has  passed  through  mastication,  and  that 
which  does  attend  it  has  little  or  nothing  to  do 
with  the  continuation  of  the  action.  The  integrity 
of  this  automatic  movement  in  man  is  seen  in  sick- 
ness. The  patient,  when  quite  unconscious,  may 
swallow,  if  the  food  is  introduced  into  the  mouth. 
In  perfect  health  we  find  ourselves  unable  frequent- 
ly to  check  the  involuntary  movement  after  it  has 
once  laid  hold  of  the  food,  passed  to  the  rear  of 
the  mouth. 

The  circulation  of  the  blood  offers  another  ex- 
ample. This,  through  the  muscles  of  the  heart  and 
the  muscular  linings  of  the  arteries,  is  largely  the  re- 
sult of  mechanical  force.  This  force  is  applied 
rhythmically  and  harmoniously  in  all  parts  of  the 
body,  by  virtue  of  the  intervention  of  the  nervous 
system,  automatically  associating  all  the  states  and 
actions  involved  with  each  other  as  causes  and  ef- 
fects.    The  circulation   of  the  blood,  laden   with 


132  ANIMAL    LIFE   AS   ORGANIC. 

food  or  with  waste,  is  thus  gently  and  continuously 
carried  forward  through  the  entire  body,  with 
momentary  reference  to  the  specific  condition  of 
each  member  as  one  of  rest  or  of  action.  Activity 
or  injury  in  any  one  part  brings  with  it,  through  a 
change  of  stimulus,  a  more  full  and  rapid  circu- 
lation. The  immediateness  of  this  control  of  the 
blood  vessels  is  seen  in  blushing,  in  the  sudden 
heat  which  accompanies  a  blunder  in  public,  and  in 
the  fact  that  when  certain  nerves  are  injured,  the 
circulation  in  portions  of  the  body  becomes  de- 
ranged and  excessive.  This  circulatory  system  re- 
mains, when  the  conscious  life  arises,  almost  wholly 
beyond  its  direct  control.  In  some  instances,  how- 
ever, the  will  may  even  reach  the  beating  of  the 
heart ;  and  states  of  mind  and  feeling  that  are  them- 
selves partially  voluntary,  greatly  modify  the  cir- 
culation. Diffidence,  anxiety,  fear,  courage,  pa- 
tience, are  all  operative  on  this  branch  of  life. 

A  third  example  of  organic  mechanism  is  that 
of  breathing.  The  muscles  that  control  the  lungs 
must  themselves  be  guided  by  the  immediate  con- 
dition of  the  lungs.  The  nervous  system  mediates 
between  the  two,  receives  from  each  fluctuation  ap- 
propriate incentives  and  transfers  them  to  the 
muscles  involved.  Breathing  is  not  thus  a  merely 
mechanical  movement  of  equal,  irresistible,  untir- 
ing strokes ;  it  is  flexible  every  instant,  and  variable 
under  a  thousand  forces.  It  is  held  by  the  vital 
power  as  the  engine  by  the  engineer,  when  he  is 
ready  to  accelerate,  retard,  arrest  or  reverse  the 
motion.     In  most  animal  life  this  movement  is  en- 


UNITED    WITH   VOLUNTARY   POWER.  1 33 

tirely  automatic.  In  man  it  is  closely  united  with 
the  voluntary  power,  and  freely  reached  by  it. 
The  use  of  the  voice,  almost  wholly  a  means  with 
him  of  intellectual  and  emotional  expression,  re- 
quires this  superior  control  of  the  lungs ;  so  do 
many  other  services,  as  the  employment  of  a  blow- 
pipe, or  of  a  wind  instrument  of  music,  or  the  hold- 
ing of  the  breath  in  the  presence  of  noxious  gases. 
The  lungs,  therefore,  with  man  have  an  extended 
voluntary  action  induced  upon  their  purely  automatic 
use,  and  sustained  in  turn  by  it.  Thus  throughout 
the  animal  organism,  every  movement,  every  action, 
muscular  and  glandular,  is  harmonized  by  inscrut- 
able nervous  stimuli,  which  the  present  facts  call 
out  in  the  nerves,  and  which  these  pass  over  to 
muscles  and  organs  as  controlling  force.  Nor  is 
this  wonderful  response  to  changing  conditions  con- 
fined to  single  lines  of  action,  like  digestion  and 
respiration,  but  covers  completely  their  relations  to 
each  other  and  to  the  immediate  and  remote  wants 
of  the  organism.  If  digestion  is  active,  other  move- 
ments tend  to  moderation  ;  but  if  muscular  effort 
is  increased,  the  circulation  is  increased  and  the 
breathing  made  more  rapid  and  full.  If  the  brain 
is  busy,  the  flow  of  blood  is  directed  toward  it,  and 
digestion  is  slackened.  Moments  of  rest,  on  the 
other  hand,  accrue  at  once  to  the  benefit  of  nutri- 
tion, and  thus  prepare  the  way  for  the  next  putting 
forth  of  power.  Even  the  intangible  feelings  send 
waves  of  modification  over  this  interlaced  mechan- 
ism. Embarrassment  forces  the  blood  to  the  face 
and  fear  drives  it  out ;  alarm  makes  the  heart  throb, 


134  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS   ORGANIC. 

and  courage  sends  the  life-currents  briskly  forward 
to  every  limb.  There  are  various  examples  of  pass- 
ing sensations  which  are  instantly  responded  to  by 
decided  muscular  or  glandular  action.  An  irrita- 
tion in  the  nostrils  produces  sneezing,  in  the  throat 
coughing,  in  the  eye  tears,  in  the  side  laughter. 
One  condition  of  the  nerves  issues  in  stretching, 
another  in  cramps,  and  another  in  spasms.  How 
subtile  are  those  impressions,  half  physical,  half  in- 
tellectual, which  automatically  carry  a  yawn  from 
person  to  person  in  a  company  or  in  an  audience  ! 
This  last  fact  especially  deserves  our  attention.  An 
organic  system  which  can  receive  and  express  un- 
consciously such  obscure,  transient  and  sympa- 
thetic impulses,  shows  that  the  range  of  automatic 
action  in  it  is  still  very  great,  notwithstanding  so 
much  of  the  field  has  been  covered  by  voluntary 
life. 

But  these  pervasive  and  changing  stimuli  of 
every  terminus  of  the  sensory  nerves  are  farther  sup- 
plemented by  nerves  specialized  in  position  and 
function  to  the  discernment  of  certain  external  con- 
ditions. These  are  the  special  senses.  The  nerves 
terminating  in  the  external  tissues  of  the  body  from 
the  beginning,  without  doubt,  turned  conditions  of 
contact  into  stimuli,  as  merely  organic  matter  had 
been  able  in  a  less  degree  to  do  before  them.  Nor 
need  we  suppose  this  power  limited  to  mechanical 
contact  alone.  Heat  and  light  may  well  enough 
act  directly  on  a  general  nervous  organization, 
since  they  act  even  on  plants.  Odor  and  taste,  not 
in   their   final  conscious  forms,  but  as  disturbing 


SPECIAL    SENSES.  I35 

chemical  conditions,  may  readily  pass  into  organic 
stimuli.  Sound  as  vibration  may  easily  give  a  ner- 
vous impulse,  the  instant  any  part  of  the  animal  is 
nicely  poised  enough  to  respond  in  movement  to  it. 
Hearing  is  quite  another  thing.  If  we  make  touch 
in  some  form  the  parent  of  the  senses,  we  are  not 
to  imagine  that  touch,  as  the  conscious  sense  it  now 
is  in  man,  stands  on  terms  of  close  agreement  with 
other  primitive  susceptibilities,  any  more  than  our 
vision  is  the  vision  of  the  star-fish.  Touch  itself 
has  had  its  development.  In  some  parts  of  the 
body  it  exhibits  its  full  power  as  a  special  sense, 
in  other  portions  it  gives  rise  to  a  disagreeable 
tickling,  in  others  it  occasions  convulsive  laughter, 
while  in  most  parts  it  yields  only  a  vague  sense  of 
contact.  Nor  are  we  for  a  moment  to  forget  that 
the  conscious  experiences  which  accompany  our 
special  senses  are  additional  to  this  automatic 
action,  and  that  this  proceeds  quite  independently 
of  these  intellectual  terms.  It  is  not  by  volition 
through  consciousness  that  we  twitch  away  the 
irritated  limb,  or  laugh  when  we  are  tickled.  The 
action  may  follow  quite  against  our  will,  and  we 
give  signs  of  pleasure  when  we  are  thoroughly 
angry.  The  interior  and  exterior  stimuli  struggle 
with  each  other,  and  sometimes  anger  vanquishes 
laughter,  and  sometimes  laughter  anger. 

Consciousness  may  not  accompany,  and  prob- 
ably does  not  accompany,  the  action  of  the  special 
senses,  till  they  are  comparatively  complete  in  their 
development,  and  extended  in  their  range  ;  they  are 
then  ready  to  furnish  the  conditions  of  experience, 


136  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS    ORGANIC. 

and  to  be  aided  in  their  government  of  the  body  by 
the  coordination  of  consciousness.  Prior  to  this, 
consciousness  would  be  an  expenditure  of  energy 
to  no  purpose. 

This  automatic  action  is  apparent  from  the  very 
rudimentary  form  in  which  the  organs  of  special 
senses  first  offer  themselves.  The  incipient  eye 
consists  of  a  "  colored  spot,"  obviously  incapable  of 
any  other  discrimination  than  a  very  obscure  one 
between  light  and  darkness.  "  Among  the  lower 
Articulata  the  development  of  the  visual  apparatus 
does  not  seem  to  pass  this  rudimentary  grade."*  It 
is  only  slowly  that  the  eye  acquires  a  range  by  which 
it  reveals  distant  objects.  The  eye  of  the  snail,  on 
its  extended  peduncle,  seems  to  do  little  more  than 
to  enable  it  slightly  to  anticipate  contact,  and  to 
increase  the  sensitiveness  of  the  organ  as  a  feeler. 
A  darkness  and  a  light  that  can  be  felt  are  the  ear- 
liest conditions  of  vision. 

Hearing  is  developed  even  more  tardily  and  ob- 
scurely than  sight.  It  is  supposed  to  be  present  as 
an  incipient  stimulus  even  when  no  organ  is  dis- 
coverable. All  that  is  essential  to  hearing  is  a  nerve 
so  located  and  covered  that  it  can  respond  to  the 
vibrations  of  the  air.  In  most  kinds  of  Medusae, 
there  are  found  along  the  margin  of  the  disk  pe- 
culiar sacculi,  containing  bodies  which  easily  re- 
ceive a  vibratory  movement.  This  construction  re- 
mains in  the  Mollusca  the  model  of  the  organ  of 
hearing,  and  a  sack  with  its  otoliths  opens  the  nerv- 
ous system  to  the  impressions  of  sound.  This  sense 

*  Carpenter's  Comparative  Physiology,  p.  726. 


SPECIAL    SENSES    AND    CONSCIOUSNESS.         1 3/ 

is  slowly  developed  in  this  direction  of  organic  con- 
ditions that  give  a  more  and  more  complete  re- 
sponse to  the  vibrations  of  the  air.  There  is  noth- 
ing to  indicate  the  transition  line  beyond  which  the 
physical  stimulus  begins  to  pass  up  into  conscious- 
ness as  sound,  but  the  simplicity  of  its  early  action 
indicates  its  automatic  character,  and  in  all  its  later 
complexity  and  habitual  ministration  to  the  thoughts, 
we  find  still  that  a  remnant  of  its  direct  and  purely 
organic  effect  remains  to  it.  Its  results  in  con- 
sciousness when  they  enter  are  additional  to  its 
physical  effects,  and  while  they  serve  later  to  re- 
combine  and  so  greatly  to  modify  these  first  results, 
the  organic  force  of  sound  remains  none  the  less 
throughout  the  basis  of  much  automatic  action  in 
this  sense.  The  physical  movement  sustains  the 
mental  one  no  matter  to  what  degree  it  is  modified 
by  it,  and  the  highest  sense  may  resume  in  a  por- 
tion of  its  action  the  simplicity  and  directness  of  a 
physical  stimulus. 

A  second  proof  that  the  special  senses  were  not 
from  the  beginning  attended  by  consciousness,  is 
found  in  their  nervous  connections  and  offices.  The 
question  whether  the  early  action  of  the  senses  did 
or  did  not  involve  consciousness  is  one  of  moment, 
as  it  helps  us  to  understand  the  extent  and  value  of 
the  purely  organic  element  in  our  constitution. 
The  number  of  eyes,  or  ocelli,  for  they  fall  much 
short  of  what  we  ordinarily  mean  by  an  eye,  show 
them  to  be  merely  points  of  narrow,  local  excite- 
ment. In  the  oyster  and  other  headless  Mollusca, 
distinct  ocelli  are  distributed  over  both  margins  of 


138  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS   ORGANIC. 

the  mantle.  They  vary  in  number  from  forty  to  two 
hundred ;  and  the  oyster  closes  its  shell  when  a 
shadow  falls  on  these  pigment  spots.*  These  ocelli, 
thus,  by  their  number,  position  and  office  indicate 
that  they  are  the  medium  of  an  automatic  impulse. 
In  the  razor-fish,  the  cockle,  and  other  bivalves  pos- 
sessing siphon-tubes,  the  eyes  are  situated  either 
at  the  base  or  on  the  tips  of  the  numerous  small 
tentacles  distributed  around  the  orifices  of  these 
tubes,  which,  in  those  living  in  the  sand,  are  often 
the  only  parts  appearing  above  the  surface.!  Their 
evident  purpose  to  distinguish  the  light  of  the  sur- 
face leaves  little  doubt  that  their  action  is  automatic. 
The  star-fish  is  furnished  with  these  eye-spots  at 
the  tip  of  each  ray,  and  they  are  united  to  the  cen- 
tral ganglion  of  the  ray.  Their  direct  government 
is  evidently  confined  to  a  single  arm,  and  only  indi- 
rectly reaches  other  portions  of  the  body.  In  the 
Mollusca  they  are  sometimes  connected  with  the 
posterior  and  sometimes  with  the  anterior  ganglia. 
In  the  headless  Mollusca  the  senses  of  touch  and 
of  sight  are  chiefly  developed  in  dependence  on  the 
posterior  ganglia.  The  auditory  saccules  also  stand 
in  connection  with  the  pedal  ganglia,  evincing  an 
immediate  government  of  the  motion  of  the  an- 
imals. Prof.  Bastian,  in  the  article  just  referred  to, 
says  :  "  In  these  headless  mollusks,  therefore,  the 
functions  pertaining  to  the  brain  in  other  animals 
are  distributed  in  a  very  remarkable  manner,  and  the 
anterior  ganglia  can  not  in   them  be  regarded  as 

*  Popular  Science  Monthly,  vol.  ix.  p.  218. 
t  Ibid.  vol.  X.  p.  30. 


EXTENT   OF    CONSCIOUSNESS.  1 39 

representing  such  an  organ."*  "  In  certain  Annel- 
lida,"  says  Dr.  Carpenter,  "  it  is  singular  that  eyes  ex- 
actly resembling  those  elsewhere  found  in  the  head 
should  present  themselves  in  the  extremity  of  the 
tail,  whose  movement  they  obviously  seem  to  di- 
rect."! 

We  infer  then  the  unconscious  character  of  the 
special  senses  in  their  origin  and  early  development 
from  their  very  rudimentary  character,  from  their 
very  restricted  range  as  indicated  by  their  number, 
form  their  direct  connection  with  scattered  ganglia 
of  motion,  and  from  the  want  of  any  superior  cen- 
tre at  which  conscious  states  could  be  united  and 
harmonized  in  motion. 

If  it  be  urged  that  consciousness  may  accompany 
this  automatic  action  without  controlling  it,  we  an- 
swer that  consciousness  itself  involves  an  expendi- 
ture of  force,  and  if  the  organic  circuit  is  complete 
without  it,  a  superfluous  expenditure.  Hence  nat- 
ural selection  would  work  against  this  purely  wasteful 
element  and  eliminate  it.  If  consciousness  is  an 
inoperative  force  in  the  lower  action  of  the  special 
senses,  we  have  no  right  to  presume  it  to  be  present. 
This  is  the  more  obvious  when  we  remember  how 
often  and  how  readily  the  higher  senses,  even  in 
man  who  uses  them  primarily  as  the  instruments 
of  his  voluntary  life,  drop  into  purely  automatic 
connections. 

Other  facts  looking  to  the  same  conclusion,  the 
tardy  development  of  consciousness,  are  found  in 

*  Popular  Science  Monthly,  vol.  x,  p.  31. 
t  Comparative  Physiology,  p.  726. 


140  ANIMAL    LIFE   AS    ORGANIC. 

vivisection,  in  diseases  of  the  cerebrum,  and  in  the 
deficiencies  or  even  entire  absence  of  this  organ. 
We  can  hardly  doubt  that  the  cerebrum  is,  in  the 
Vertebrata,  the  exclusive  seat  of  consciousness. 
Theory  and  experiment  confirm  this  conclusion. 
But  if  the  cerebrum  is  removed,  there  is  a  large 
remainder  in  various  animals  of  automatic  action, 
a  remainder  that  varies  in  completeness  according 
to  the  extent  in  them  of  voluntary  action.  This 
strictly  organic  action  includes  all  the  senses,  and 
extends  even  to  cries  of  pain.  These,  when  purely 
reflex,  are  distinguishable  from  similar  cries  which 
accompany  consciousness,  and  no  more  indicate 
pain  than  do  the  groans  of  a  patient  while  under 
the  influence  of  an  anaesthetic.  Thus  the  organic 
life  is  controlled  by  blind  stimuli,  when  the  condi- 
tions of  consciousness  are  seen  to  be  wanting. 
This  automatic  action  we  may  well  believe  would 
be  more  complete,  when  united  in  the  higher  ani- 
mals to  the  usual  condition  of  intelligence,  than 
when  left  mutilated  and  fragmentary  by  a  violent 
stripping  away  of  its  adjuncts.  The  conscious 
life,  in  shaping  the  organic  life,  must  constantly 
tend  to  put  upon  it  limitations,  which  would  ap- 
pear very  manifest  when  the  intertwined  conscious 
element  is  violently  removed.  It  is  remarkable 
that  so  large  a  portion  of  the  organic  action  still 
remains  unimpaired,  when  dealt  with  so  suddenly 
and  severely  in  vivisection. 

In  the  same  way  disease  may  greatly  reduce 
conscious  action  in  man  or  quite  subvert  it,  and 
still  there  may  remain  automatic  action  extending 


PRIORITY   OF    ORGANIC    LIFE.  I4I 

even  to  the  highest  senses.  Infants  have  been 
born  without  any  cerebrum,  and  the  organic  Hfe 
has  held  fast  for  a  time  to  its  own  narrow  basis. 
In  extreme  idiocy,  the  circle  of  consciousness 
may  be  narrowed  down  to  a  very  uninfluential 
term,  yet  the  senses  be  complete.  On  the  other 
hand,  as  in  a  Laura  Bridgman,  the  circle  of  the 
senses  may  be  greatly  diminished,  and  the  powers 
of  a  conscious  life,  when  once  awakened,  be  found 
unusually  vigorous. 

Another  consideration,  showing  the  long  prior- 
ity of  the  purely  organic  life,  is  the  large  part  it 
still  plays,  even  in  connection  with  the  highest  in- 
telligence. It  is  the  dark  region  in  which  the  pow- 
ers of  mind  hide  all  their  roots.  The  eye  is  the 
most  voluntary  sense,  yet  it  is  momentarily  sus- 
tained by  purely  automatic,  physical  action.  The 
iris  contracts  and  expands  with  the  light.  The 
muscles  of  the  eyes  mechanically  adjust  them- 
selves to  the  objects  to  be  seen,  lengthening  or 
shortening  the  axis  of  each  eye,  and  separating  or 
converging  the  axes  of  the  two,  as  the  distances 
require.  To  this  are  added  the  movements  of  the 
eyes  with  every  change  of  position  in  the  object 
seen,  or  in  the  person  beholding  it,  or  with  every 
change  occasioned  by  their  conjoint  movement. 
How  rapid,  complicated  and  still  complete  these 
adjustments  may  become,  is  seen  in  a  game  of  ball. 
There  is  a  kind  of  physical  inspiration  in  a  skilful 
blow  of  the  bat.  The  winking  of  the  eyes,  and 
their  closing  under  strong  light,  are  of  the  same 
direct  character.     The  way  in  which  vision  uncon- 


142  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS   ORGANIC. 

sciously  attends  on  our  action  is  made  plain  by  the 
difficulties  we  meet  with  in  stumbling  along  an  un- 
even snow-path  in  the  night-time. 

In  many  animals  there  are  spontaneous  move- 
ments of  the  ears,  allied  to  those  of  the  eyes.  The 
slightest  motions  of  the  air  instantly  set  at  work 
this  automatic  mechanism  by  which  sound  is  gath- 
ered. In  man  a  sudden  noise  startles  the  muscu- 
lar system,  and  puts  it  in  an  attitude  of  apprehen- 
sive readiness.  This  immediate  effect  of  sounds 
may  go  much  farther,  as  in  the  hunter,  who  is 
made  habitually  observant  of  them,  or  in  the  musi- 
cian in  the  orchestra,  who  more  or  less  mechani- 
cally suits  his  action  to  the  action  of  those  about 
him. 

In  sleep  slight  irritations  are  responded  to,  and 
the  sleeper  repeatedly  readjusts  himself  so  as  to 
relieve  fatigue  and  secure  comfort.  In  somnambu- 
lism this  apparently  unconscious  response  to  exter- 
nal conditions  is  carried  very  far,  so  far  as  to  ena- 
ble the  sleep-walker  to  do  things  which  would  be 
difficult  or  impossible  for  him  in  waking  hours. 

Skill,  as  in  the  acquisition  of  a  trade,  turns  on 
this  mingled  dependence  and  independence  of  the 
organic  life,  and  consists  in  the  passage  of  volun- 
tary into  automatic  movement.  Connections  at 
first  conscious,  partial  and  laborious,  become  un- 
conscious, complete  and  spontaneous  ;  automatic 
action  takes  the  new  direction,  and  the  man  has 
acquired  skill,  he  has  planted  new  dependencies  in 
his  physical  constitution.  How  complicated  these 
dependencies  are,  and  in  how  many  different  de- 


TRAINING   AND    STIMULI.  1 43 

grees  they  remain  under  the  influence  of  the  con- 
scious Hfe,  are  seen  in  ordinary  and  extraordinary 
activities.  In  walking  any  inequality  of  the  ground 
is  provided  for  by  an  automatic  modification  of  the 
muscles  through  the  eye,  so  much  so  that  a  mistake 
to  the  extent  of  an  inch  brings  a  concussion.  In 
reading,  however  rapidly,  every  letter  affects  the 
articulation,  and,  this  too,  when  we  are  paying  no 
attention  either  to  the  process  or  to  the  subject-mat- 
ter. Page  after  page  can  be  passed  over  in  mo- 
ments of  abstraction  without  a  slip,  though  many 
thousand  adjustments  of  the  organs  of  speech  are 
involved.  When  a  mistake  does  occur,  it  often 
enters  in  a  mechanical  way.  The  first  letter  of 
one  word  may  be  brought  back  and  made  to  intro- 
duce another  word,  while  the  letter  that  it  displaces 
is  carried  forward  to  fill  the  vacancy.  Thus  in 
type,  the  opening  syllables  of  adjacent  lines  are 
transferred.  The  mingling  of  the  involuntary  and 
the  voluntary  in  the  playing  of  a  superior  musician 
is  very  wonderful. 

Training  may  be  attached  to  different  senses 
and  to  different  series  of  sensations.  An  action 
which  is  accompanied  by  this  indirect  oversight  of 
the  eye  can  hardly  be  performed  without  it,  though 
we  are  not  ordinarily  conscious  of  the  aid  ren- 
dered. One  writes  without  seeming  to  guide  the 
pen,  and  while  busily  occupied  with  the  topic  ;  yet, 
if  the  eye  is  diverted,  the  movement  becomes  at 
once  irregular  and  vague.  One  is  quite  certain  to 
strike  his  fingers  in  driving  a  nail,  if  the  light  is 
inadequate,  though  he  may  know  the  precise  posi- 


144  ANIMAL   LIFE    AS    ORGANIC. 

tion  of  the  nail,  and  ordinarily  drives  it  without 
hesitation.  Yet  practice  may  enable  us  to  do 
these  and  like  acts  under  the  unconscious  guidance 
and  correction  of  touch.  In  one  remarkable  in- 
stance, given  by  Dr.  Carpenter,  a  mother  was 
unable  to  govern  the  muscles  of  the  arm  by  the 
ordinary  automatic  connections,  and  would  uncon- 
sciously drop  her  child  unless  she  watched  the 
movements  of  her  arms,  and  guided  them  by  the 
eye.  She  held  her  infant  safely  so  long  as  she 
looked  at  it,  but  lost  it  when  her  attention  was 
turned  away. 

Sleights  of  hand  and  feats  of  equilibrists  give 
these  acquired  yet  automatic  connections  in  a 
striking  form.  A  second  unusual  activity  has  by 
patient  effort  and  a  pliant  organic  system  been  en- 
grafted on  the  common  one,  and  become  with  it  an 
available  constituent.  . 

In  the  training  which  is  to  issue  in  this  increase 
of  organic  action,  this  enlarged  correlation  of  ner- 
vous stimuli,  the  voluntary  purpose  works  in  a  very 
obscure  way.  We  can  not  at  all  trace  in  con- 
sciousness the  lines  of  connections  estabhshed  be- 
tween our  nerves  and  muscles  in  the  fulfilment  of 
our  purposes.  We  send  into  the  automatic  mech- 
anism a  blind,  tentative  impulse,  and  it  comes  forth 
a  harmonious  and  graceful  action  ;  if  the  move- 
ment is  less  successful,  we  repeat  it  till  it  com- 
pletes itself  in  perfect  coordination.  We  are  not 
more  aware  of  the  hidden  dependencies  by  which 
our  will  is  accomplished,  than  a  stranger,  shifting 
a  band  in  complicated  machinery,  is  aware  of  the 


SUMMARY.  145 

connections  which  suddenly  modify  its  action.  I 
roll  my  head  and  still  direct  my  eyes  to  one  object. 
I  utter  a  difficult  word,  I  make  a  somersault ;  in 
each  case  I  propose  to  do  the  act,  and  do  it,  but 
may  have  no  knowledge  of  the  means  by  which  it 
is  done,  nor  can  I  follow  in  consciousness  one  of 
the  fugitive  stimuli  that  are  flashing  through  my 
system.  I  have  within  my  own  body  a  veritable 
power  of  conjuration.  The  conscious  purpose  falls 
as  a  mystic  utterance  on  the  purely  organic  pow- 
ers, and  these  hasten  to  fulfil  its  command.  We 
are  constantly  overlooking  this  fact,  and  so  ascribe 
much  more  to  intelligence  and  much  less  to  the 
inherent,  self-sufficing  tendencies,  than  belong  to 
them. 

We  see  then  (i)  that  the  unconscious  organic 
connections  are  long  prior  to  the  conscious  ones, 
and  their  sole  basis ;  (2)  that  conscious  activity, 
when  it  comes,  avails  itself  of  and  increasingly 
modifies  the  organic  connections  ;  (3)  that  the  un- 
conscious activities,  while  they  thus  secure  a  larger 
range,  remain  the  same  in  essential  nature;  (4) 
that  the  superior  power  finds  more  explanation  in 
the  lower  one  than  the  lower  one  in  the  higher 
one ;  (5)  that  in  every  stage  of  development  there 
must  be  relative  completeness  in  the  organic  ele- 
ment, and  that  the  conscious  element  slowly  builds 
upon  it,  as  physically  secondary  to  it,  though  in- 
tellectually primary.  Consciousness  is  always  sink- 
ing in  the  development  of  intelligence  deeper  and 
deeper  into  the  organic  mechanism.  It  follows 
from  this  (6)  that  the  same  organic  connections 


146  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS  ORGANIC. 

are,  in  the  lower  f  orrns  -  of  .life,  more  absolutely 
complete  in  themselves  than  in  the  higher  forms 
of  life.  In  our  earlier  interpretations  we  are  to  lay 
stress  on  the  predominant  organic  element :  all 
presumptions  are  in  its  favor.  We  are  to  refer 
nothing  to  intelligence  till  intelligence  has  mani- 
festly been  established  as  a  modifying  power.  (7) 
Increments  are  decisive,  and  are  enlarged  down- 
ward ;  they  are  not  evolved  upward.  It  is  intelli- 
gence that  comes  as  a  new  factor  to  organize  struc- 
ture, and  modifies  and  partially  displaces  even  its 
prior  action ;  it  is  not  this  prior  action  that  slowly 
divulges  itself  as  intelligence. 

When,  therefore,  we  interpret  low  organizations 
by  ourselves,  and  speak  of  sea-anemones  as  without 
doubt  manifesting  will,  we  are  simply  giving  play 
to  fancy,  or  quite  misapprehending  the  whole  con- 
structive development  of  animal  life.* 

While  this  organic  mechanism,  ever  amplifying 
and  varying  its  functions  within  its  own  limits,  re- 
mains throughout  the  core  of  growth,  it  needs  to 
be  supplemented  by  activities  more  external,  more 
changeable,  by  which  it  may  be  put  in  larger  con- 
nection with  its  environment.  This  is  accom- 
plished, first,  by  the  muscular  system  as  controlled 
by  special  instincts  and  special  senses,  later  by  the 
associations  of  experience,  and  last  by  rational  ac- 
tivity. We  have,  therefore,  in  order,  these  three 
additive  developments,  separated  by  vanishing  lines, 
to  consider,  instinctive,  associative,  and  rational 
life. 

*  Popular  Science  Monthly,  vol.  vii.  p.  8. 


L  1  li  R  A  a  . 

UNI  V  KliS  I  TV   (}h 

CALIFOI^MA. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

ANIMAL  LIFE  AS  INSTINCTIVE. 

Instincts  in  the  growth  of  intelligence  lie 
between  the  grades  occupied  by  strictly  organic 
life  and  by  intelligence  proper.  It  is  not  strange 
that  the  organic  life,  which  primarily  sustains  in 
their  many  complicated  and  changeable  rela- 
tions the  internal  organs  and  functions  of  the 
living  thing,  and  secondarily,  though  in  a  way  in- 
separable from  its  first  office,  controls  the  actions 
of  the  animal  towards  its  environment,  should,  in  this 
large  open  direction,  extend  itself  in  increasingly 
subtile  and  varied  adjustments.  It  is  no  more  won- 
derful that  external  action  should  be  capable  of  ex- 
tensive control  by  the  organic  stimuli  of  an  automat- 
ic nervous  system,  everywhere  reaching  the  surface, 
and  appearing  in  many  points  as  special  senses, 
than  it  is  that  such  a  system  should  take  cognizance 
of  the  slightest  internal  changes,  and  fit  to  them 
the  accompanying  muscular  action.  The  same 
sensitiveness  directed  toward  external  changes 
which  we  find  in  operation  in  internal  changes, 
would  give  a  very  complete  scheme  of  conduct. 

This  is  what  takes  place  in  instinct.  The  or- 
ganic life,  by  virtue  of  obscure  stimuli  received  in 


148  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS    INSTINCTIVE. 

the  nervous  system,  automatically  controls  many 
actions  which  relate  to  surrounding  conditions,  to 
the  present  and  future  wants  of  the  animal  or  of  its 
posterity,  and  so  gives  an  appearance  of  intelligence 
which  is  not  present. 

Nor  is  it  strange  when  intelligence  in  its  higher 
forms  arrives,  as  in  man,  that  it  should  take  pos- 
session of  most  of  this  field,  previously  occupied  in 
lower  lives^j^jitLJiistincts.  This  shifting  of  the 
dividing  line  in  different  grades  of  life  between 
organic  action  and  intelligence,  if  it  is  not  clearly 
recognized,  leads  to  much  confusion.  It  is  in  per- 
fect keeping  with  what  we  find  everywhere.  There 
are  no  firm  bounds  between  the  grades  of  life,  but 
flexible  ones,  swayed  now  to  this  side,  now  to  the 
other.  It  is  in  accordance  with  analogy  that  organic 
action  should  pass  into  associative  and  rational  ac- 
tion, by  an  area  of  obscure  and  mixed  phenomena, 
having  different  attachments,  backward  or  forward, 
at  different  times.  It  is  natural  that  the  lower, 
once  taken  up  into  the  higher,  should  be  greatly 
modified  by  it ;  that  the  higher  should  penetrate 
into  and  occupy  territory  in  whole  or  in  part  which 
had  previously  fallen  to  the  lower,  pushing  back 
inferior  processes  before  its  own  superior  ones,  and 
weaving  the  two  together  at  a  new  line  of  junction. 
j  Indeed,  if  the  organic  life  kept  strictly  within  its 
\  inner  circle  of  organic  functions,  the  transition  to 
{  inteUigence  would  be  abrupt,  and  with  no  sufficient 
Vpreparation  or  support.  The  feeble  germs  of  con- 
scious life  must  be  nursed  into  power  by  extended 
and  well-sustained  automatic  action,  or  they  would 


FIELD    OF    INSTINCTS.  1 49 

perish  from  the  excess  of  work  thrown  upon  them, 
from  their  inability  to  assume  the  guidance  of  the 
life  from  which  they  were  just  budding  forth. 

It  seems  equally  plain,  also,  that  when  intelli- 
gence becomes  a  vigorous,  pushing  power,  lower 
forms  must  retreat  before  it  and  mould  themselves 
afresh  to  it ;  otherwise  the  animal  would  lose  its 
unity,  and  remain  inflexible  and  resistful  under  the 
new  authority.  The  new  centre  must  send  new 
radii  into  the  old  field,  or  it  remains  a  comparatively 
separate  and  dead  addition.  There  must  be  living 
territory  over  which  the  new  life  can  spread  itself. 

We  look,  then,  upon  instincts  as  occupying  this 
intermediate  field  over  which  the  organic  forces 
first  slowly  extend  in  an  automatic  adaptation  of 
the  various  forms  of  life  to  their  environment,  and 
from  which,  in  the  higher  animals  and  in  man,  they 
again  slowly  retreat,  partially  or  entirely,  as  intel- 
ligence comes  forward  to  supersede  them. 

That  there  are  instincts,  and  that  collectively 
they  cover  a  very  extended  domain,  cannot  be 
doubted.  This  has  been  the  view  that  philosophy, 
science,  and  common  conviction  have  spontaneously 
taken  up.  Recently  some  efforts  have  been  made 
greatly  to  narrow,  or  wholly  to  remove  this  division, 
and  to  refer  to  instruction  and  conscious  adaptation 
what  had  been  previously  ascribed  to  instinct. 
This  effort  has  drawn  out  careful  experiments  that 
have  served  fully  to  confirm  the  general  impression, 
and  to  establish  instinctive  action. 

The  most  noteworthy  of  these  observations  have 
been  made  by  D.  A.  Spalding.     The  results  have 


150  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS    INSTINCTIVE. 

appeared  in  various  scientific  publications,  have  oc- 
cupied attention  for  a  considerable  period,  and 
have  become  familiar  to  all  interested  in  these  ques- 
tions. These  observations  and  experiments  were 
made  on  the  young  of  domestic  animals;  chickens, 
turkeys,  ducks  and  pigs.  It  was  found  that  these 
young  animals  respond  at  once  and  decisively  to 
external  conditions  of  sight  and  sound  quite  inde- 
pendently of  experience  ;  that  they  go  to  work  in  a 
complete,  masterly  way  in  handling  themselves,  in 
suiting  action  to  existing  facts,  in  taking  and  cap- 
turing food,  or  in  meeting  danger.  The  theory  of 
instruction  and  rapid  acquisition  is  quite  ruled  out. 
We  are,  therefore,  at  liberty  to  assume  instincts  as  a 
fact,  and  also  the  extended  and  important  part 
which  they  play  in  animal  life.  We  should  define 
instinct  to  be  the  automatic  tendency  which  under- 
lies an  organic  action  having  the  form  of  an  intelli- 
gent and  voluntary  one.  The  impulse  rests  in  the 
organic  life,  the  form  of  the  action  allies  it  to  in- 
telligence. Instincts  will,  therefore,  disappear  be- 
low in  stated,  organic  activities,  and  pass  above 
into  intelligent  conduct.  The  field  is  preeminently 
mixed,  one  of  overlapping  and  diverse,  though  in 
each  single  case  of  concurrent,  activities.  This 
definition  makes  instinct  cover  the  same  ground  as 
that  assigned  to  it  by  Mr.  Lewes.  He  says  that 
"  instinct  is  lapsed  intelligence."  The  definition  is 
to  be  objected  to,  not  on  the  ground  that  it  does 
not  point  in  the  right  direction  for  the  facts,  but 
because  it  implies  a  theory  as  to  the  origin  and  re- 
lation of  the  facts,  and  that,  too,  an  incorrect  one. 


DEFINITION   OF    INSTINCT.  I51 

Instincts  are  to  be  regarded  as  the  action  of  lower 
forces  in  unusual  vigor,  rather  than  as  the  sinking 
of  higher  forces  in  relative  decay.  To  this  point 
we  shall  return. 

A  definition  of  instinct  is  not  so  important  as  it 
would  be,  if  the  field  of  this  form  of  action  possessed 
any  well-defined  margin.  Our  definition  suffices  to 
direct  attention  to  the  right  phenomena,  to  give  their 
leading  characteristics,  and  to  cover  the  facts  that 
are  discussed  under  this  head  by  the  great  majority 
of  scientific  writers.  The  word,  instinct^  is  greatly 
extended  by  some,  so  as  to  include  the  habits  and 
even  the  intuitions  of  rational  life.  This  extension 
confounds  very  different  things  on  the  ground  of  a 
superficial  resemblance.  Instinct  belongs  exclu- 
sively to  physical  action,  and  its  chief  interest  per- 
tains to  the  nature  and  the  origin  of  the  impulses 
which  underlie  it.  It  is  difficult  to  speak  of  the 
one  without  involving  the  other  ;  to  define  the  na- 
ture of  instinct  without  at  least  implying  a  theory 
of  its  origin.  Kirby  and  Spence,  while  declin- 
ing a  definition,  say.  "We  may  call  the  in- 
stincts of  animals  those  unknown  faculties  im- 
planted in  their  constitution  by  the  Creator,  by 
which,  independent  of  instruction,  observation 
or  experience,  and  without  a  knowledge  of  the 
end  in  view,  they  are  impelled  to  the  perform- 
ance of  actions  tending  to  the  well-being  of  the 
individual  and  the  preservation  of  the  species."* 
Says  Darwin,  "  An  action,  which  we  ourselves  re- 
quire experience  to  enable  us  to  perform,  when  per- 

*  Entomology,  p.  537. 


152  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS    INSTINCTIVE. 

formed  by  an  animal,  more  especially  by  a  very  young 
one,  without  experience,  and  when  performed  by 
many  individuals  in  the  same  way,  without  their 
knowing  for  what  purpose  it  is  performed,  is  usu- 
ally said  to  be  instinctive."*  Our  definition  or  de- 
scription of  instincts  takes  in,  then,  the  two  ele- 
ments which  characterize  these  actions,  a  constitu- 
tional tendency  expressing  itself  in  work  which  has 
the  form  of  intelligent  activity. 

We  proceed  to  -a  more  careful  consideration  of 
the  nature  and  origin  of  these  midway  facts  which 
help  to  bridge  the  space  between  automatic  and 
voluntary,  unconscious  and  conscious,  activity.  In- 
stinctive actions  have  the  appearance  of  being  di- 
rected by  intelligence.  Any  movement  obviously 
organic,  like  the  pulsation  of  the  lungs  or  of  blood- 
vessels, would  not  be  referred  to  instinct,  no  matter 
how  complicated  the  dependencies.  But  why  are 
actions  which  appear  to  imply  on  the  part  of  the 
animal  a  perception  of  ends  and  an  adaptation  of 
means  to  them  separated  from  intelligence,  put  in 
a  class  by  themselves,  and  referred  to  instinct? 
Notwithstanding  a  decided  tendency  to  narrow 
down  the  circle  of  instinct,  there  remain  actions 
known  as  instinctive,  which  we  cannot  refer  to  in- 
telligence. There  are  a  certainty  and  precision  in 
them,  and  a  uniformity  in  method  and  results,  which 
obviously  distinguish  them  from  actions  which  are 
the  results  of  variable  foresight  and  choice.  Intel- 
Hgence  does  not  present  in  its  methods  the  exact, 
and   comparatively   unchanging   phases   which  so 

*  Origin  of  Species,  p.  205. 


CHARACTERISTICS    OF    INSTINCTS.  1 53 

plainly  belong  to  instinct.  Existing  in  every  variety  / 
of  degree,  and  acting  under  very  changeable  cir- 
cumstances, intelligence  is  correspondingly  capri- 
cious in  its  results.  Whatever  uniformity  there  is  ] 
in  them  in  successive  generations  is  chiefly  to  be 
ascribed  to  imitation  and  instruction.  But  imita- 
tion and  instruction  are  out  of  the  question  in  pro- 
nounced instincts.  Such  a  transfer  is  the  supposi- 
tion which  observation  and  experiment  have  settled 
in  the  negative.  The  superficial  form,  then,  of  the 
instinctive  action,  though  resembling  in  some  rela- 
tions the  products  of  intelligence,  is  after  all  quite 
unlike  them ;  while  its  transmission  attends  on  the 
organic  and  not  the  imitative  powers. 

Moreover,  the  animal  whose  habits  of  life  are  in- 
stinctive does  not  show  that  development,  nor  pre- 
sent, beyond  its  own  range  of  activity,  that  adapta- 
tion of  means  to  ends,  which  we  should  have  a  right 
to  expect  from  it,  if  its  daily  conduct  were  the  re- 
sult of  thought.  The  bee  and  the  ant  are  remark- 
able workers  within  a  somewhat  broad  range  of  life, 
but  the  boundaries  of  their  knowledge  are  compara- 
tively unchangeable.  Intelligence  must  always  pre- 
sent vanishing  lines,  and  pass  from  mastery  to  weak- 
ness along  many  obscure  paths.  The  bee  builds  its 
comb  in  a  wonderful  way,  but  builds  little  else  that 
is  wonderful.  It  neither  climbs  up  to  the  maximum 
structure  by  gradations,  nor  finds  elsewhere  kindred 
fields  for  the  application  of  its  principles.  This  sol- 
itariness and  disassociation  of  its  best  work  must 
strike  at  once  the  most  careless  observer.  The  ant, 
though  an  adept  in  arched  and  tunneled  work,  can 


154  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS    INSTINCTIVE. 

not  be  induced  to  frame  the  simplest  bridge  to  meet 
an  unusual  exigency.  Sir  John  Lubbock  describes 
his  efforts  to  draw  out  in  them  a  temporary  device. 
He  left  a  chasm  in  a  paper  bridge  so  wide  that  the 
ants  could  not  quite  reach  across  it.  "  They  came 
to  the  edge  and  tried  hard  to  get  over,  but  it  did  not 
occur  to  them  to  push  the  paper  bridge,  though  the 
distance  was  only  about  one-third  of  an  inch,  and 
they  might  easily  have  done  so.         *  *  * 

Thinking  that  the  paper  was  a  substance  to  which 
they  were  not  accustomed,  I  tried  the  same  with  a 
bit  of  straw  one  inch  long  and  one-eighth  of  an  inch 
wide.  The  result  was  the  same."*  He  strove  to 
induce  them  to  build  a  bridge  of  mould  ;  to  drop  the 
food  they  were  carrying,  or  themselves  to  drop,  a 
short  distance  and  to  save  a  long  journey;  "but 
these  simple  expedients  did  not  occur  to  them,'* 
though  they  obviously  desired  to  overcome  the  dif- 
ficulty. The  narrowness  of  their  devices  in  one 
direction  thus  stands  in  striking  contrast  with  their 
breadth  in  other  directions. 

It  is  also  to  be  remembered  that  if  instinctive 
action  is  to  be  referred  to  reason,  it  must  often  be 
reason  of  a  very  high  order.  Though  the  comb  of 
the  bee  has  not  all  the  perfection  sometimes  ascribed 
to  it,  it  is  still  a  very  exact  and  very  extraordinary 
structure,  and,  as  wholly  the  product  of  thought, 
would  imply  very  extraordinary  powers,  even  if  we 
allow  it  a  slow  serial  development.  Many  instinc- 
tive actions,  especially  those  of  insects,  as  the  sand- 
wasp,  have  reference  to  offspring  which  the  parent 

*  Popular  Science  Monthly,  vol.  ii,  p.  46. 


INSTINCTS   AND    INTELLIGENCE.  1 55 

is  never  to  see,  of  which  it  could  gain  little  or  no 
knowledge  from  experience,  nor  have  toward  it  any 
of  the  ordinary  solicitude  of  natural  affection.  These 
instinctive  efforts  are  also  made  when  they  are  ne- 
cessarily abortive,  or  when  there  is  no  occasion  for 
them.  Thus  the  hen  will  sit  without  eggs,  and  the 
bee  "  store  up  honey  in  the  hottest  climates."* 

Very  high  instincts  are  also  associated  with  very 
low  intelligence.  Certain  larvae,  whose  nervous 
development  is  so  elementary  as  to  give  very  little 
basis  for  intelligence,  exhibit  striking  instincts, 
hardly  less  so  than  those  of  mature  insects.  The 
way  in  which  the  larva  and  the  insect  both  prepare 
the  way  for  each  other,  though  separated  by  the 
egg  and  the  chrysalis,  and  the  vigorous  instincts  of 
each  lying  in  one  line  of  development,  make  out  a 
strong  case  against  intelligence.  The  organic  devel- 
opment and  the  accompanying  instincts,  must,  in 
each  circle  of  life,  have  arisen  together,  as  they  sup- 
plement each  other.  Moreover,  the  explanation 
that  is  forced  upon  us  in  one  direction  should 
have  its  due  extension  in  other  directions.  If,  when 
the  mason-wasp  stings  the  caterpillar  which  it 
deposits  with  its  egg  in  such  a  manner  as  to  para- 
lyze it  without  killing  it,  we  refer  the  action  to  in- 
stinct, we  may  also  refer  to  instinct  the  action  of  the 
ant  in  gnawing  off  the  radicle  of  the  grain  it  stores, 
that  it  may  not  sprout.  In  the  one  example  the 
provision  is  beyond  the  experience  of  the  insect,  in 
the  other  example,  within  it;  but  in  both  the  methods 

*  Kirby  and  Spence's  Entomology,  p.  537. 


156  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS    INSTINCTIVE. 

and  objects  are  so  alike  that  we  naturally  refer  them 
to  one  cause. 

There  is,  however,  a  far  more  decisive  consid- 
eration which  for  us  at  once  settles  the  fact  of  in- 
stincts, and  gives  us  their  explanation.  Many  in- 
stincts, I  think  I  may  say  much  the  majority  of  them, 
and  the  most  remarkable  of  them,  are  closely  associ- 
ated with  peculiar  physical  powers  to  which  they 
stand  in  the  relation  of  functions  ;  or  are  incident 
to  the  fulfilment  of  functions.  The  bee  can  man- 
ufacture by  an  organic  process  its  wax.  Without 
this  power  its  constructive  talent  could  not  exist, 
and  without  its  constructive  talent  this  organic  func- 
tion would  fail  of  its  office.  It  is  reasonable,  there- 
fore, to  suppose  that  a  peculiar  constitutional  power 
of  this  sort  should  carry  organically  with  it,  like 
every  other  portion  of  the  body,  the  automatic 
connections  necessary  for  its  one  normal  manifes- 
tation. The  organ  and  the  function  correlate,  and 
find  their  simple  expression  in  the  instinctive  action. 
So  the  silk-worm  and  a  thousand  other  worms  could 
not  construct  their  cocoons,  if  they  could  not  spin 
the  filaments  of  which  they  are  made.  The  hor- 
net must  be  able  to  fabricate  his  paper  home ;  the 
cliff-swallow  to  cement  the  material  of  its  nest ;  the 
chimney-swallow  to  glue  together  the  twigs  that 
sustain  its  eggs  ;  the  working  ant  to  temper  its 
mortar ;  the  fighting  ant  to  secrete  its  poisonous 
acid  ;  the  beetle  to  generate  the  disagreeable  odor 
by  which  it  defends  itself  ;  and  the  wasp  to  sting  the 
deposited  caterpillar.  The  wonderful  and  varied 
devices  of  the  spider  are  correlative  to  its  spinneret, 


INSTINCTS    AND    ORGANIC    FUNCTIONS.  1 5/ 

and  thus  a  large  class  of  instincts,  than  which  none 
are  more  remarkable,  is  dependent  on  a  very  pecu- 
liar physical  organ. 

We  are  also  to  remember  that  many  instincts 
are  associated  with  the  propagation  of  the  species, 
and  so  may  find  an  immediate  organic  impulse  in 
the  susceptible  procreative  organs.  Beetles  and  in- 
sects generally  show  very  clear  and  decisive  in- 
stincts in  the  depositing  of  their  eggs,  and  in  the 
provision  for  offspring.  Many  of  the  most  remark- 
able adaptations  of  means  to  ends  in  this  class 
of  animals  arise  at  this  point.  The  migrations 
and  nesting  of  birds,  and  the  burrows  and  re- 
treats of  higher  animals,  are  more  or  less  directly 
associated  with  this  strong  and  pervasive  organic 
tendency.  Another  example  of  instinctive  actions 
united  to  very  peculiar  organic  powers,  is  offered  by 
the  chameleon  and  the  squid.  The  ability  which  this 
cuttle-fish  possesses  of  removing  its  spots,  and  so 
making  itself  less  conspicuous,  must  be  the  basis  of 
that  instinctive  action  by  which  it  in  this  way  con- 
ceals its  approach  from  its  prey.  Nor  can  we  read- 
ily believe  that  working  bees  understand  those  very 
unusual  organic  changes  by  which  a  working  grub 
is  transformed  by  a  peculiar  diet  into  a  queen  ;  and 
that  they  stand  ready,  on  an  exigency,  to  avail 
themselves  of  them.  The  external  conditions,  like 
the  internal  transformation,  seem  to  be  locked  up  to- 
gether as  parts  of  one  remarkable  organic  tendency ; 
nor  is  it  easy  to  understand  how  the  two  could 
have  arisen  otherwise  than  together  as  parts  of  the 
same  organic  development. 


158  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS    INSTINCTIVE. 

We  believe,  then,  that  there  is  a  direct  or  indi- 
rect organic  basis  for  every  instinctive  action.  This 
supposition,  not  in  itself  improbable,  seems  suffi- 
ciently confirmed  when  we  reflect,  {a)  on  the  ex- 
treme subtilty  of  the  stimuli  in  ordinary  organic 
connections.  We  can  give  no  explanation  of  the 
incitements  which  coordinate  functional  actions, 
nor  any  term  in  consciousness  which  expresses  them. 
Some  of  these  are  very  peculiar,  as  the  impulse 
which  leads  a  hen  to  eat  egg-shells  ;  some  arise  on 
very  slight  occasions,  as  the  stimuli  which  direct  a 
curlew  in  unearthing  a  grub,  buried  eight  or  nine 
inches  in  the  sand,  reaching  it  with  a  single  thrust 
of  the  bill,  or  guides  the  wood-pecker  to  his  prey ; 
some  exist  when  the  occasions  for  them  seem  to 
have  passed  away,  as  the  irritations  which  lead  the 
rattlesnake  to  strike  with  the  headless  body  many 
hours  after  decapitation.*  The  obscurity  of  the 
connection,  therefore,  between  the  organs  involved 
and  their  modes  of  activity  is  not  different  from 
that  we  meet  with  constantly  in  animal  life,  (b) 
There  are  often,  as  in  the  examples  already  given, 
and  in  many  more  which  might  be  given,  special 
physical  powers  directly  associated  with  the  instinct, 
and  finding  their  expression  in  it.  The  relation  be- 
tween them  is  so  fixed  and  functional,  that  a  devel- 
opment which  should  bring  the  organ  without  includ- 
ing its  instinctive  use  would  be  quite  futile,  {c)  There 
is  an  extensive,  complex  and  varied  system,  that  of 
reproduction,  furnishing  the  most  universal,  forcible 

*  Popular  Science  Monthly,  vol.  iv.  p.  265. 


INSECTS    AND    INSTINCTS.  1 59 

and  subtile  organic  stimuli,  which  is  closely  asso- 
ciated with  a  large  class  of  instincts.  Even  in  man 
this  system  comes  accompanied  with  the  powerful 
natural  affections,  {a)  The  appetites  and  the  special 
senses,  combined  in  man  in  so  many  automatic  ways 
by  the  conscious  life,  are  capable  in  the  animal  of  a 
corresponding  extension  in  unconscious  correlations. 
The  conscious  element  which  accompanies  a  sensa- 
tion or  an  appetite  serves  indeed  to  bring  it  under 
the  cognition,  and  so  the  guidance,  of  the  mind,  but 
does  not  necessarily  form  any  part  of  its  physical 
power. 

To  these  considerations  we  add  another  less 
easily  appreciated,  but  one  as  weighty  in  itself  as 
any  of  them ;  (e)  the  peculiar  conditions  of  in 
stinctive  development  in  insects.  Insects,  and 
among  them  preeminently  spiders,  bees  and  ants, 
offer  examples  of  the  highest  forms  of  instinctive 
life.  What  is  the  reason  of  this  .^  A  point  already 
urged,  that  of  special  organs,  applies  decisively  to 
the  spider,  somewhat  less  so  to  the  bee,  and  still  less 
so  to  the  ant.  In  the  case  of  the  bee  and  the  ant, 
which  may  well  enough  be  put  at  the  head  of  in- 
stinctive life,  we  need,  if  possible,  further  explana- 
tion. That  the  wonderful  social  development  of 
these  insects  is  mainly  instinctive  seems  to  us  plain. 
Perfect  as  may  be  their  organization  and  methods 
of  life  in  any  given  case,  they  yet  have  in  the  sev- 
eral species  the  narrowness  and  rigidity  of  instinct. 
Says  Spence :  "  There  is  no  authentic  instance  on 
record  of  the  hive-bees  altering  in  any  age  or  cli- 
mate their  peculiar  operations  which  are  now  in  the 


l60  ANIMAL    LIFE   AS    INSTINCTIVE. 

coldest  and  in  the  hottest  regions  precisely  what 
they  were  in  Greece  in  the  time  of  Aristotle  and 
in  Italy  in  the  days  of  Virgil."  *  Having  spoken 
of  special  adaptations,  as  the  bending  of  the  comb, 
in  order  to  avoid  attaching  it  to  an  unsafe  surface, 
like  that  of  glass,  he  adds,  "  These  variations,  how- 
ever singular,  are  limited  in  their  extent  ;  all  bees 
are  and  have  always  been  able  to  avail  themselves 
of  a  certain  number,  but  not  to  increase  that  num- 
ber." t  If  we  compare  bees  and  ants  with  birds, 
we  shall  find  the  latter  more  free  and  variable  in 
their  constructive  methods,  not  because  they  show 
more  skill  than  the  insects,  but  because  a  larger 
share  of  intelligence  and  a  smaller  share  of  instinct 
go  into  their  composition.  If  the  habits  of  the  bee 
and  ant  are  to  be  referred  to  reflection,  they  would 
appear  to  be  far  more  thoughtful  than  birds,  and 
ought  to  show  much  more  flexibility  in  their  devices. 

A  portion,  also,  of  their  action,  if  referable  to  in- 
sight, greatly  transcends  human  intelligence.  In 
the  construction  of  domes  and  arches,  bridges,  tun- 
nels and  covered  ways,  the  ants  outstripped  man  by 
innumerable  ages,  and  if  reflection  underlies  these 
structures  of  theirs,  they  greatly  surpass  him  now 
in  the  relative  magnitude  and  importance  of  their 
works. 

We  shall  admit  this  when  we  see  men  build 
cities  or  arch  over  mighty  phalansteries  without 
tools,  putting  the  clay  into  form  with  naked  hands 
and  tempering  it  with  the  glue  of  their   mouths. 

*  Ibid.  p.  537.  t  Ibid.  p.  550. 


INSECTS    AND    INSTINCTS.  l6l 

Till  something  like  a  parity  of  methods  shall  be 
found  between  men  and  ants,  we  shall  believe  in 
the  fundamental  diversity  of  the  intellectual  states 
from  which  their  respective  actions  proceed.  Agree- 
ments which  overlook  such  radical  disagreements 
as  these  are  superficial.  What  a  wonderful  com- 
prehension of  causes  would  that  be  which  should 
induce  a  change  of  food  for  larvae  by  the  working 
bees  for  the  purpose  of  supplying  queens  !  Here 
is  a  prescience  quite  beyond  our  own,  for  we  are 
unwilling  to  believe  the  facts  when  they  are  before 
us,  and  have  no  explanation  to  offer  of  them. 

But  the  manner  in  which  these  communities 
are  organized  and  their  entire  procedure  are  decis- 
ive against  intelligence  as  the  controlling  force. 
Thought  must,  according  to  its  degrees  of  perfec- 
tion, have  the  means  of  expression.  Though 
thought  is  not  identical  with  language,  and  in  order 
of  causation  precedes  it,  neither  can  be  developed 
to  any  extent  without  the  other.  Thought  can  no 
more  unfold  and  consolidate  its  conclusions  in  the 
individual  mind  without  its  own  instrument  of  ex- 
pression and  retention  than  it  can  in  the  com- 
munity between  man  and  man.  Conjoint,  intelli- 
gent action,  therefore,  implies  constant  and  clear 
intercourse  in  language,  since  only  by  this  means 
can  labor  be  organized  and  harmonized  on  an  in- 
tellectual basis.  What  could  a  thousand  men  ac- 
complish in  a  common  undertaking  without  lan- 
guage. The  popular  notion,  therefore,  and  that  of 
patient  observers  even,  has  been  that  bees  and  ants 
communicate  freely  with  each  other.     When  Sir  J. 

II 


l62  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS    INSTINCTIVE. 

Lubbock,  in  a  series  of  careful  experiments  cast 
doubt  on  this  conclusion,  there  was  much  unwilling- 
ness to  accept  his  results.  He  seems,  however, 
clearly  to  have  shown  that  bees  and  ants  communi- 
cate but  little  with  each  other,  far  less  than  has 
been  supposed.  It  is  well-nigh  certain  that  they, 
like  other  animals,  only  impart  their  own  concrete 
states.  The  bee  is  a  sensible  fact  to  every  other 
bee  ;  and  its  states  of  quiet  and  disturbance  are  a  por- 
tion of  that  fact ;  as  much  so  as  the  crossness  of  a 
dog  to  a  child,  or  a  smiling  face  to  an  infant.  Fear 
and  alarm  thus  spread  through  a  hive  as  anger 
through  a  mob.  In  this  interchange  of  states  the 
antennae  are  serviceable,  as  are  tongues  and 
horns  with  cows.  There  is  no  proof  that  a  bee  or 
an  ant  ever  possesses  an  abstract  truth,  or  ever 
imparts  one  to  a  companion  ;  and  if  they  do  not, 
this  settles  the  fact  that  their  combinations  in 
social  undertakings  are  not  thoughtful  ones.  Sir 
John  Lubbock  found  that  if  the  store  of  food  to  be 
removed  was  large,  the  ants  who  discovered  it  soon 
brought  companions  to  aid  in  the  labor.  He  was 
also  convinced  that  they  do  not  report  directions 
and  plans,  that  they  have  but  a  very  limited  knowl- 
edge of  them,  and  move  chiefly  by  scent.*  It  is 
easy  to  understand  how  a  large  supply  of  food 
should  produce  a  concrete  state  of  satisfaction  in 
an  ant,  that  could  immediately  interest  its  compan- 
ions and  secure  their  aid.  The  senses  which  are 
most  alert  in  these  insects  lead  to  the  same  conclu- 

*  Popular  Science  Monthly,  vol.  xi.  p.  56. 


BEES   AND   ANTS.  1 63 

sion.  They  are  inattentive  to  sounds,  guide  them- 
selves but  little  by  vision,  and  have  very  acute 
scent  and  touch.  These  are  the  senses  which  favor 
organic  development ;  while  vision,  and  above  all 
hearing,  minister  to  reflection.  The  frequent  in- 
sensibility of  insects  to  the  disasters  of  their  com- 
panions, or  to  their  death,  leads  us  to  believe  that 
relations  and  duties  not  instinctively  enforced  on 
them  have  not  much  interest  for  them.  Parasites 
on  bees  that  could  be  easily  removed  by  compan- 
ions are  allowed  to  remain,  the  sufferer  receiving 
no  aid. 

We  are  also  to  remember  that  from  a  scientific 
point  of  view  the  social  economy  of  the  hive  and  the 
ant-hill  takes  a  very  misleading  garniture  from  the 
language  which  the  enthusiastic  observer  applies 
to  them.  He  talks  of  the  queen-bee,  yet  the  queen- 
bee  is  not  the  ruler,  but  the  fecund  mother  of  the 
hive,  that  is  all.  Her  close  confinement,  her  daily 
food,  her  careful  attendance  are  not  the  perquisites 
of  royalty,  but  have  reference  to  the  propagation 
of  the  species.  Her  sovereignty  lies  solely  in  this 
supreme  function.  Her  queenship  is  one  of  duties, 
and  not  of  rank. 

A  similar  relation  is  detailed  by  Spence  as  ex- 
isting in  certain  species  of  ants.  Their  king  and 
queen,  their  royal  chambers,  their  capacious  apart- 
ments and  extensive  retinue  only  mean,  when 
divested  of  figure,  the  incidents  that  attend  on  the 
continuation  of  the  species.  Much  the  same  is 
true  in  reference  to  the  keeping  of  slaves  by  various 
species  of  ants.     It  is  simply  an  instance  of  a  social 


164  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS   INSTINCTIVE. 

community  constructed  by  the  mutual  ministration 
of  distinct  species,  and  is  brought  about  by  the 
very  common  practice  among  ants  of  stealing  each 
other's  pupae  and  larvae.  The  words  slaves  and 
masters  are  a  mere  gloss  of  language.  The  two 
classes,  like  working  ants  and  warriors,  reciprocally 
minister  to  each  other.  If  this  relation  is  one  of 
intelligence,  it  certainly  is  not  one  of  mastery,  for 
the  masters,  if  we  also  may  be  allowed  this  varnish 
of  speech,  fall  into  the  most  abject  dependence  on 
their  slaves,  and  are  as  often  ruled  by  them  as  they 
rule  them.  In  the  dairy-keeping  of  the  ants  there 
is  much  the  same  extravagance  of  phrase.  The  ant 
profits  by  the  secretion  of  the  aphides,  and  has  the 
appetite  to  feed  where  food  can  be  found.  There 
may  be  some  reciprocal  advantage  accruing  to  the 
aphides,  but  of  this  we  are  not  certain.  The  rela- 
tion goes  no  farther  than  an  immediate  appetitive 
one,  accompanied  with  a  disposition  to  defend  their 
food.  So  a  dog  gnaws  a  bone,  growls  at  his  fellow 
and  buries  it  when  through  with  it.  An  associa- 
tion of  remote  species  for  the  benefit  of  one  or 
both  is  not  uncommon  in  the  animal  kingdom. 
The  cuckoo  laying  its  egg  in  the  nest  of  other 
birds  ;  the  cow-bird  in  its  association  with  kine  ; 
the  trochilus  and  the  crocodile ;  birds  of  prey,  like 
kites  and  vultures,  that  attend,  the  weaker  on  the 
stronger,  are  a  few  among  many  examples. 

There  seems  to  be  no  true  leadership,  no  con- 
certed plans,  no  designed  concurrence  of  action  be- 
tween bees  or  between  ants  in  carrying  out  their 
purposes ;  nor  the  opportunity  in  language  proper 


SOCIAL    INSTINCTS.  1 6$ 

for  any  such  pre-arrangement  of  effort.  I  do  not 
mean  to  say  that  there  are  not  many  actions  to 
which  we  may  not,  in  facile  interpretation,  bring 
this  rendering  which  is  the  shadow  cast  by  our  own 
powers  on  the  Ufe  below  us,  but  that  careful  obser- 
vation establishes  no  real  leadership  or  counsel 
among  ants.  We  can,  if  we  will,  make  the  tree- 
tops  whisper  love  to  each  other.  Spence  confirms 
the  words  of  Solomon.  They  have  "  no  captain, 
overseer  or  ruler."  *  This  lack  of  guidance  goes 
far  to  establish  the  essentially  instinctive  character 
of  their  social  life.  Such  a  life,  so  extended  and 
complete,  must  have  a  decisive  support  somewhere, 
either  in  organic  conditions  or  in  counsel,  or  in 
both. 

This  brings  us  to  what  we  believe  to  be  the  true 
explanation  of  the  broad  and  varied  instincts  of  the 
social  insects.  The  egg,  larva,  chrysalis  and  insect 
stand  organically  united  to  each  other.  It  is,  there- 
fore, nothing  strange  that  the  insect  should  provide 
for  the  egg  and  larva,  the  larva  for  the  chrysalis 
and  the  insect.  Here  is  a  constitutional  depend- 
ence which  gives  a  basis  for  the  longitudinal  ex- 
tension of  organic  action  through  the  four  steps  of 
development.  So  the  sexes  are  organically  depend- 
ent on  each  other,  and  we  explain  by  this  fact 
their  instinctive  relations  toward  each  other. 
In  the  same  way  we  refer  to  organic  facts 
those  affections  of  parents  for  their  young, 
which  are   called  natural  affections.      They   have 

*  Ibid.  p.  330. 


1 66  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS   INSTINCTIVE. 

in  animals  a  decisive  force  while  they  last,  come 
to  an  abrupt  conclusion,  and  are  so  blindly 
instinctive  that  the  grossest  tricks  can  be  played 
upon  them.  Hamerton,  in  his  Chapters  on  Animals, 
gives  an  instance  in  which  the  skin  of  her  calf,  very 
carelessly  stuffed,  was  laid  before  the  cow  to  draw, 
jher  attention  while  being  milked.  She  proceeded 
[to  lick  it  with  "  the  most  delightful  tenderness  ;  " 
yet  a  little  later,  the  fastenings  giving  way,  she  ate 
up  the  fodder  it  contained  with  entire  composure. 
Natural  affection  flowed  into  a  natural  appetite 
without  a  ripple  of  intelligence. 

Nor  ought  we  to  be  so  surprised  as  we  are  at 
the  impressibility  of  the  animal  organism  to  invol- 
untary stimuli,  when  we  reflect  that  we,  who  have 
for  generations  resisted  such  tendencies,  are  yet 
occasionally  subject  to  them  in  an  unconquerable 
way.  Impressions  and  aversions  are  fastened  on 
our  nervous  system,  sometimes  by  a  single  experi- 
ence, which  we  never  escape.  Thus  a  child,  eating 
to  nausea  of  a  coveted  dish,  ever  afterwards  loathes 
it.  The  very  odor  of  a  ship,  or  of  the  sea,  is  offen- 
sive to  one  who  has  suffered  from  protracted  sea- 
sickness. The  smell  of  varnish  may  suggest  a 
funeral,  or  of  thyme  a  graveyard. 

If  we  take  a  community  of  bees  or  ants,  we  do 
not  find  that  they  are  so  many  like  distinct  individ- 
uals, or  pairs  even,  associated  by  inclination  merely 
on  terms  of  common  and  interchangeable  services. 
They  are  organically  interlaced  with  each  other, 
complements  of  each  other  by  peculiar  functions 
and  special  labors  that  fall  to  them  not  by  selection, 


SOCIAL   INSTINCTS.  1 67 

but  by  constitution.  The  queen  of  the  hive  is  the 
one  mother-bee,  the  drones  are  the  males,  and  the 
working-bees  the  neuters.  Here  the  ordinary  sex- 
ual relation,  or  one  allied  to  it,  is  spread  through 
the  entire  hive,  shapes  its  economy,  and  divides  its 
duties.  When  we  see,  then,  that  the  most  marvel- 
ous instincts  of  the  community  turn  on  these  same 
relations,  the  production  of  a  queen,  attendance 
upon  her,  supplying  her  place  when  lost,  the  slaugh- 
ter of  the  drones,  or  the  sparing  of  them  when  the 
hive  is  without  a  fertilized  queen,  the  care  for  the 
young,  we  are  led  at  once  to  believe  that  we  have 
here  the  extension  of  an  organic  force,  that  ordina- 
rily unites  a  single  family,  through  an  entire  com- 
munity, and  that  the  social  polity  and  good  order  of 
the  hive  are  constitutional.  A  single  worker  may 
go  to  another  hive,  but  the  hive  is  a  society  by  vir- 
tue of  functional  distinctions  allied  to  those  be- 
tween the  sexes,  and  as  decisive  as  they  in  control- 
ling its  life.  There  is  here  a  lateral  extension  of 
organic  connections,  allied  to  their  longitudinal  ex- 
tension in  the  four  stages  of  transformation. 

Corresponding  varieties  of  office  and  organiza- 
tion exist  between  the  different  occupants  of  an 
ant-hill.  As  there  are  many  species  among  ants, 
and  much  variety  in  their  social  economy,  what  is 
said  in  a  general  way  of  their  habits  and  relations 
will  not  be  equally  true  of  them  all. 

We  have  in  the  ant-hill  not  only  the  king  and 
the  queen,  or  the  two  sexes,  but  extended  secondary 
divisions  of  neuters  quite  beyond  the  simple  rela- 
tions of  the  hive.     Says  Darwin  :    "  The  neuters 


1 68  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS    INSTINCTIVE. 

of  several  ants  differ  not  only  from  the  fertile  fe- 
males and  males,  but  from  each  other,  sometimes 
to  an  almost  incredible  degree,  and  are  thus  divided 
into  two  or  even  three  castes.  The  castes,  more- 
over, do  not  commonly  graduate  into  each  other,  but 
are  perfectly  well-defined,  being  as  distinct  as  are 
any  two  species  of  the  same  genus,  or  rather  as  any 
two  genera  of  the  same  family."*  Says  Sir  John 
Lubbock,  in  the  article  in  the  Popular  Science 
Monthly  already  referred  to :  "  Under  ordinary 
circumstances  an  ant's  nest,  like  a  bee-hive,  con- 
sists of  three  kinds  of  individuals  ;  workers  or  im- 
perfect females,  males,  and  perfect  females.  *  * 
In  addition  to  the  ordinary  workers  there  is  in  some 
species  a  second,  or  rather  a  third,  form  of  female.* 
In  a  Mexican  species,  besides  the  common  workers, 
there  are  certain  others  in  which  the  abdomen  is 
swollen  into  an  immense  sub-diaphanous  sphere. 
These  individuals  are  very  inactive,  and  principally 
occupied  in  elaborating  a  kind  of  honey.  In  the 
genus  Pheidole  there  are  also  two  distinct  forms 
without  any  intermediate  gradations  ;  one  with 
heads  of  the  usual  proportion,  and  a  second  with 
immense  heads  provided  with  very  large  jaws."t 
The  distinctions  therefore  between  ants  as  workers 
and  soldiers  are  grounded  in  organic  differences,  and 
their  offices  are  not  interchangeable.  Their  rela- 
tions to  each  are  settled  by  constitutional  develop- 
ment, and  not  by  consent.  The  soldiers  swarm 
out  at  once  to  defend  the  home,  but  quite  decline 

*  Origin  of  Species,  p.  230.  t  Vol.  xi.  p.  40. 


SOCIAL    INSTINCTS.  1 69 

to  repair  it.  On  the  other  hand,  no  sooner  is  the 
attack  over  than  "  the  laborers  are  in  motion  has- 
tening in  various  directions  towards  the  breach, 
every  one  carrying  in  his  mouth  a  mass  of  mortar, 
half  as  big  as  his  body,  ready  tempered.  As  fast  as 
they  come  up  each  sticks  its  burden  in  the  breach  ; 
and  this  is  done  with  so  much  regularity,"  that 
though  many  thousands  are  engaged  in  the  work 
they  do  not  embarrass  or  delay  each  other.*  The 
warriors  have  not  only  their  powerful  jaws,  but 
their  own  secretion.  This  is  no  longer  a  glue  with 
which  to  unite  gravel  into  mortar,  but  a  poisonous 
acid.  "  The  combatants  seize  each  other,  rear  on 
their  hind  legs,  and  instantly  spurt  their  acid."t 
Shortly  the  ground  is  strewn  with  the  dead,  and  the 
dead  are  covered  with  venom.  Thus  their  method 
of  fighting  is  as  functional  as  the  fight  itself,  and 
quite  removed  from  conscious  election. 

When  we  add  to  these  fundamental  distinctions 
in  the  same  community  the  introduction  in  differ- 
ent instances  of  wholly  distinct  species,  now  as  co- 
partners, and  now  as  the  so-called  slaves  ;  and  that 
all  are  wrought  into  one  whole  of  mutually  depend- 
ent parts,  it  seems  plain  enough  that  we  have  ample 
organic  distinctions  involved  in  the  members  of  a 
community  of  ants  to  be  made  the  basis  of  its  won- 
derful social  economy.  The  organic  development  in 
insects  is  strictly  collective,  as  it  is  in  many  forms 
of  lower  life,  and  the  individual  cannot  be  regarded 
as  consciously  acting  his  part  with  those  about  him. 

*  Kirby  &  Spence's  Entomology,  p.  311.       f  Ibid.  p.  327. 


I/O  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS    INSTINCTIVE. 

The  nervous  system  of  the  higher  insects  is 
also  sufficiently  complete  and  centralized  to  be  the 
medium  of  many  complicated  and  combined  stim- 
uli. The  development  of  their  senses  is  such  as  to 
put  them  in  active  response  to  the  outside  world  as 
immediately  bearing  on  them.  Hearing,  a  pecu- 
liarly intellectual  sense,  is  dull ;  vision  scarcely 
extends  to  remote  objects,  while  their  antennae 
give  them  conditions  of  very  delicate  touch,  and 
their  sense  of  smell  seems  to  be  very  acute,  and  in 
constant  service.  We  infer  this  from  the  way  in 
which  bees  and  ants  track  each  other,  and  follow 
their  own  track,  and  from  the  manner  in  which  ants 
discover  at  once  the  place  at  which  a  fellow  has 
met  with  disaster  and  turn  back. 

Without  claiming  it  as  fully  established  that 
every  instinct  has  its  organic  basis,  we  think  the 
conclusion  is  so  certainly  true  in  the  majority  of 
cases,  and  so  probable  in  many  more  cases,  as  to 
make  this  the  most  rational  explanation  by  far  of 
all  instinctive  action.  It  puts,  moreover,  this  form 
of  life,  or  of  intelligence)  using  the  term  conces- 
sively, in  the  closest  dependence  on  that  below  it, 
and  at  the  same  time  furnrshes  a  new  basis,  a  plas- 
tic medium  for  that  directly  above  it.  The  in- 
stinct, as  imitative  of  intelligent  activity,  can  both 
open  the  way  for  this  activity,  and  give  ground  be- 
fore it. 

The  relations  of  instinct  to  evolution  are  obvi- 
ous. The  view  now  urged  does  not  materially  af- 
fect the  question  of  the  origin  of  the  several  forms 
of  life,  and  the  relation  of  their  successive  stages 


INSTINCT   AND- INTELLIGENCE.  I/I 

to  each  other.  The  organic  foundations  and  their 
associated  instincts  may  vary  together,  and  the 
movement  forward  proceed  under  natural  selec- 
tion ;  or  the  organs,  and  their  instinctive  functions, 
may  receive  positive  increments  in  pre-arranged 
directions  ;  or  the  two  methods  may  be  parts  of 
one  method,  which  seems  to  us  more  probable. 
No  very  special  considerations  bearing  on  the  doc- 
trine of  evolution  arise  at  this  point  of  the  instincts. 
If  we  regard  them  as  subtly  enlarged  organic  action, 
they  fall  naturally  into  the  general  line  of  develop- 
ment. 

The  relation  of  instinct  to  intelligence  is  equally 
plain.  Instinct  first  prepares  the  way  for  intelli- 
gence by  securing  safely  the  forms  of  life  needful  to 
a  highly  developed  consciousness,  and  then  slowly, 
as  the  incipient  intelligence  is  ready  to  occupy  the 
field,  retires  before  it.  It  is  like  those  lower  forms 
of  life,  lichens  and  moss  on  the  rock,  that  accumu- 
late organic  material,  make  ready  for  a  higher 
growth,  and  are  then  excluded  by  it.  Intelligence 
easily  engrafts  itself  upon  instinct,  works  its  way 
into  it,  and  so  crowds  it  out.  All  that  Wallace  and 
others  have  said  of  the  intelligence  of  birds  in  nid- 
ification  and  migration  may  well  enough  be  true, 
and  yet  leave  a  large  remnant  of  instinctive  ten- 
dency. Indeed,  this  additional  intellectual  develop- 
ment breaking  in  on  the  instincts,  is  precisely  what 
we  have  been  urging.  The  uniformity  in  position, 
material  and  method  of  nesting  belonging  to  each 
species  may  be  referred  to  instinct,  while  special 
adaptations    are   explained   by  associative   intelli- 


172  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS    INSTINCTIVE. 

gence.  The  migrations  of  birds  in  their  regularity, 
certainty,  and  precision,  plainly  imply  an  auto- 
matic impulse,  but  this  impulse  in  its  execution 
may  suffer  many  modifications  from  passing  im- 
pressions, and  the  introduction  of  an  intelligent 
experience.'  We  believe  these  departures  from 
uniformity  will  be  found  to  increase  with  the  intelli- 
gence of  the  species  ;  they  are  very  marked  in  some 
species,  and  very  slight  in  others. 

It  ought  not  to  surprise  us  that  the  organic 
system  can  take  up  at  certain  seasons  of  the  year 
peculiar  nervous  stimuli  securing  appropriate  ac- 
tion. Our  own  appetites  are  considerably  affected 
by  the  seasons  in  the  objects  they  crave,  and  some 
diseases,  like  hay-fever,  have  a  very  precise  periodic 
character  conformable  to  the  year.  The  line  which 
divides  instinct  from  intelligence  is  a  variable  one, 
not  only  as  between  different  species,  but  as  be- 
tween different  individuals  of  the  same  species. 
When  the  higher  faculties  are  present  in  any  unu- 
sual degree,  they  necessarily  cut  into  and  modify 
the  lower  ones. 

Habit  is  an  image  of  instinct,  though  unlike  it 
in  origin.  Habit  may  either  be  an  undesigned  ten- 
dency, fastened  in  the  physical  system  by  repeti- 
tion, to  renew  certain  states  and  forms  of  action ; 
or  it  may  be  skill,  the  power  gained  by  practice  to 
perform  easily,  automatically,  some  process  more 
or  less  difficult.  These  induced  states  are  superfi- 
cially incorporated  into  the  organic  action.  De- 
pendencies are  established  which  serve  automati- 
cally, in  the  second  class  of  habits,  to  sustain  and 


.      HABITS   AND    INSTINCTS.  1 73 

carry  forward  the  voluntary  movement ;  or,  in  the 
first  and  more  passive  class,  to  impart  quiet  to  the 
system  by  allowing  it  to  drop  into  a  familiar  rut. 
These  habits  are  then  the'  deposit,  designed  and 
undesigned,  of  our  voluntary  life,  and,  as  finally 
resting  on  impressions  in  the  automatic  constitu- 
tion, are  allied  to  instincts. 

This  connection  of  habits  and  instincts  may  in 
some  instances  be  so  close  that  the  habit  shall  in- 
corporate itself  into  an  allied  instinct,  as  an  exten- 
sion of  it,  and  so  pass  with  it  to  offspring  by  de- 
scent. The  instinct  in  this  case  is  the  core,  not 
the  habit.  Darwin  has  made  facts  of  this  order 
familiar.  Dogs  have  acquired  and  transmitted  pe- 
culiar hunting  qualities.  In  these  cases  the  acqui- 
sition was  closely  connected  with  vigorous  organic 
tendencies,  lying  in  the  same  direction,  ready  to 
take  it  up,  incorporate  it,  and  pass  it  on.  Habits 
in  the  human  family  do  not  as  a  rule  descend  to 
children,  because  they  do  not  penetrate  deeply 
enough  into  the  physical  constitution.  There  is 
indeed  a  general  belief  that  certain  habits,  prima- 
rily physical,  do  pass  to  offspring.  Thus  George 
Eliot,  in  Felix  Holt,  hints  at  an  illegitimate  rela- 
tionship by  a  peculiar  rubbing  of  the  hands,  which 
belongs  to  both  father  and  son. 

One  may  deepen  by  voluntary  effort  his  method 
of  breathing,  and  so,  modifying  his  own  lungs, 
transmit  undoubtedly  a  superior  functional  activ- 
ity. The  peculiar  connections  of  nerves  and  mus- 
cles due  to  our  voluntary  life,  such  a  connection  as 
that  by  which  we   repeat  words  by  rote,  do  not 


1/4  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS    INSTINCTIVE. 

secure  a  sufficiently  deep  constitutional  basis  to 
come  under  the  law  of  inheritance.  If  they  did, 
the  conditions  of  rational,  individual  life  would  be 
pretty  much  wiped  out,  and  intelligence  would  be 
self-destructive.  The  mind's  action  would  be  fore- 
stalled by  chronic  habits,  by  instincts.  In  propor- 
tion as  intelligence  softens  instinct,  and  effaces  its 
deep  lines  of  division,  does  it  limit  the  law  of  de- 
scent and  restore  the  individual  to  his  liberty. 

Some  have  been  led  by  this  connection  of  habit 
and  instinct  to  try  to  make  the  former  the  root  of 
the  latter.  This  is  an  entire  subversion  of  the 
true  order  of  evolution.  Habits  owe  their  force 
and  their  transmission  to  organic  tendencies,  not 
organic  tendencies  to  habits.  Habit  can  do  noth- 
ing without  an  organic  relation  to  build  on.  Dar- 
win very  justly  says  :  "  It  would  be  a  serious  error 
to  suppose  that  the  greater  number  of  instincts 
have  been  acquired  by  habit  in  one  generation  and 
then  transmitted  to  succeeding  generations."  * 

But  this  leads  us  to  our  last  consideration  un- 
der instinct,  its  origin.  What  we  have  said  goes 
far  to  settle  the  question.  We  have  striven  to 
show  that  it  is  a  farther  development  of  the  organic 
life,  and  hence  its  origin  and  development  are 
locked  up  with  that  life.  G.  H.  Lewes  urges  the 
view  that  "  instinct  is  lapsed  intelligence  ;  that 
what  is  now  the  fixed  and  fatal  action  of  organism 
was  formerly  a  tentative  and  discriminating  (conse- 
quently intelligent)  action ;  in  a  word,  that  what  is 

*  Origin  of  Species,  p.  206. 


INSTINCTS   AS   DERIVED    FROM    INTELLIGENCE.    1 75 

now  a  concrete  tendency  was  formerly  acquired  ex- 
perience." *  Others  incline  to  the  same  view, 
though  few  can  have  thoroughly  considered  all 
that  is  involved  in  it.  Either  we  must  narrow 
down  instincts  to  a  very  restricted  class  of  actions, 
or  we  must  reco  nize  the  organic  element  as  fun- 
damental in  them.  The  greater  share  of  them,  all 
of  them  which  contain  an  obvious  organic  depend- 
ence, can  not  be  referred  to  experience.  The  spin- 
ning of  the  spider,  or  of  the  larva,  the  comb  of  the 
bee,  and  the  paper  of  the  wasp,  cannot  be  the 
fruits  of  e  perience  merely,  since  they,  in  their 
formation,  are  only  functions  of  peculiar  organs. 
The  organs  can  hardly  be  supposed  to  have  exist- 
ed without  the  function,  waiting  for  experience  to 
impart  it ;  nor  could  experience  direct  its  use  till 
the  function  was  present.  This  explanation,  there- 
fore, cannot  break  in  on  the  great  central  mass  of 
instinctive  facts. 

Moreover,  the  theory  virtually  makes  an  in- 
stinctive life  later  in  development  than  an  intelli- 
gent one,  since  it  is  the  ultimate  product  in  which 
intelligence  issues.  Skill  is  higher  than  acquisi- 
tion, but  skill  remains  permeated  with  the  volun- 
tary, thoughtful  tendency;  can  be  taken  up  anew 
at  any  time  by  it,  and  so  be  wrought  over  into  still 
higher  results.  It  is  profoundly  irrational  to  make 
instinct,  through  its  entire  breadth,  subsequent  to 
intelligence,  and  the  product  of  it  ;  as  much  so  as 
it  would  be  to  make  organic  life  the  offspring  of 

*  Nature,  vol.  vii.  p.  437. 


1/6  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS   INSTINCTIVE. 

instinctive  life,  because  the  latter  modifies  the  for- 
mer. It  is  a  radical  perversion  of  the  relations  of 
higher  and  lower,  earlier  and  later,  in  the  steps  of 
development.  The  later  must  indeed  modify  the 
earlier,  and  so  intelligence,  while  following  instinct 
and  steadily  narrowing  its  field,  may,  in  a  limited 
degree  incorporate  itself  in  it ;  but  to  seize  on 
such  secondary  facts,  and  to  strive  to  explain  pri- 
mary ones  as  a  whole  by  them,  is  a  method  as  mis- 
taken as  it  would  be  to  assert  as  a  method  that 
brick  walls  are  built  in  sections  from  the  top  down- 
ward, because,  occasionally,  a  wall  already  up  is 
raised  and  supported  from  beneath. 

In  proportion  as  intelligence  increases,  instinct 
disappears ;  yet  if  instinct  lies  last  in  the  line  of 
development,  we  should  anticipate  a  time  in  which 
our   conscious,    voluntary   life   should  be   entirely 
swallowed   up,    or  greatly  narrowed,  by  an   auto- 
matic, unconscious  one.     The  fundamental  order  i 
is  the  reverse  of  this ;  instinct  makes  way  for  in-  1 
telligence,  and  yields  at  its  presence.     Nor  does  ^ 
the  word,  lapsed,  in  the  definition,  remove  the  diffi- 
culty.    Instinct  is  not  a  decay  of  intelligence,  nor 
a  falling  off  of  it.     Habits  badly  formed  and  al- 
lowed  a  surreptitious  organic  basis  may  be  this, 
but  those  rightly  formed  lie  wholly  in   the  line  of 
rational  development,  and  minister  to  it. 

Few  theories  rest  on  a  more  narrow  or  a  more 
mistaken  rendering  of  facts,  or  are  more  subver- 
sive of  fundamental  relations  than  this  that  in- 
stincts are  the  products  of  experience,  and  so  of 
intelligence.     No  profound  insight  into  the  order 


NARROW   VIEW    OF   THE   FACTS.  I// 

of  life  is  possible  under  such  a  view.  The  forces 
of  growth  all  come,  like  the  buds  that  break  the 
soil,  forcing  themselves  up  from  below.  Each 
stage  enriches  the  soil  in  which  the  seeds  of  the 
next  are  sown.  Physical  forces  lie  a  broad  stratum 
under  purely  organic  ones,  organic  forces  sustain 
in  turn  instinctive  ones,  while  the  three  unite  to 
support  the  superincumbent  activity  of  intelli- 
gence. 

No  safe  theories  can  be  wrung  out  of  a  few 
facts  that  are  considered  in  oversight  of  this  lead- 
ing relation.  Though  habit  takes  partially  in  ra- 
tional life  the  place  of  instinct,  the  generic  origin 
of  the  two  is  very  different.  Habit  is  the  striking 
of  intelligence  downward  into  the  subject  organic 
powers  ;  instinct  is  the  stretching  in  development 
of  these  organic  powers  outward  and  upward. 

While  our  rational  life  is  the  last  term  in  the 
progression,  it  sends  its  succulent  fibres  to  the 
very  bottom  of  things,  as  a  present  controlling 
power. 


Uis  1  V  i:\is  r\'Y  Oh 
.    <  AIJj()!»\|  \. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

ANIMAL   LIFE   AS   ASSOCIATIVE. 

In  passing  from  instinctive  to  associative  life, 
though  the  two  are  united  by  a  broad  over-lap,  we 
meet  with  an  absolutely  new  element,  conscious- 
ness. Here  is  a  term  perfectly  distinct  from  every 
one  which  has  preceded  it.  It  lies  in  advance  of 
organic  forces  with  the  same  decisive  spacing 
which  separates  organic  from  purely  physical 
forces.  No  effort  to  reduce  this  difference  has 
met  with  the  least  success.  When  Taine  tells  us 
that  mental  facts  are  brain-phenomena  seen  from 
the  inside,  while  viewed  from  the  exterior  they  re- 
tain their  physical  appearance,  he  is  talking  in  rid- 
dles, for  the  inside  of  a  brain  has  no  spiritual  qual- 
ities above  its  outside. 

Consciousness  is  the  new  condition  or  form  of 
a  new  series  of  activities  with  whose  phenomenal 
character  we  are  most  familiar,  but  of  whose  sub- 
stance we  have  only  that  inferential  knowledge 
which  everywhere  belongs  to  a  search  after  es- 
sences. Little  as  we  understand  the  relation  of 
mental  and  physical  facts  to  each  other,  mental 
facts  still  constitute  our  most  immediate  and  com- 
plete knowledge.  When  we  speak  of  thoughts, 
feelings  and  choices,  all  of  them  hourly  passing 
through  our  consciousness,  we  are  dealing  with  as 

plain  and  well-understood  things  as  any  to  which 
178 


CONSCIOUSNESS*  1/9 

we  can  possibly  direct  our  speech.  No  feeling  is 
known  to  us  save  as  a  conscious  feeling,  and  when 
we  speak  of  consciousness,  we  designate  that  which 
is  the  recognized  condition  of  all  our  thinking,  and 
that,  therefore,  which  makes  this  language  and  all 
other  language,  this  thought  and  all  other  thoughts 
intelHgible  to  us.  Nothing  can  be  plainer  in  its 
nature  than  consciousness,  since  it  is  the  ever  pres- 
ent condition  of  all  plainness.  That  which  we 
mean  by  a  plain  truth  is  one  which  has  found  its 
way  decisively  into  our  consciousness.  Conscious- 
ness being  thus  a  perfectly  primitive  fact,  the  very 
form  of  knowledge,  it  is  a  loss  of  time  to  try  to 
explain  it  farther,  or  to  liken  it  to  something  else. 

Consciousness,  as  the  form  of  a  new  kind  of 
being  superinduced  on  organic  and  instinctive  life, 
is  the  first  condition  of  what  we  term  associative 
life.  Associative  life  is  mental  facts  united  in  ex- 
perience through  memory.  But  consciousness  is 
not  itself  being,  but  only  the  form  of  being.  What, 
then,  are  the  first  phenomena  to  assume  this  form, 
to  appear  in  consciousness.^  and  when  did  these 
phenomena  arise  ?  We  cannot  answer  these  ques- 
tions decisively.  Conscious  life,  like  organic  life, 
doubtless  arose  slowly,  and  passed  upward  by 
slight  increments.  We  cannot,  however,  easily 
trace  its  development,  since  the  external  signs  of 
organic  and  instinctive  life  are  readily  mistaken  for 
those  of  intelligence.  Such  great  things  are  pos- 
sible to  instinctive  life  without  consciousness,  and 
consciousness  when  it  comes  so  mingles  with  in- 
stinct and  glimmers  about  it,  that  it  is  as  impossi- 


l80  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS    ASSOCIATIVE. 

ble  to  separate  the  two  as  it  is  to  give  the  dividing 
line  between  light  and  darkness. 

It  is  probable  that  sensibility  to  physical  pain 
and  pleasure,  and  the  appetites  were  the  first  men- 
tal facts  to  appear  in  consciousness.  We  argue 
this  from  the  fact  that  the  conscious  life  evidently 
roots  itself  in  the  organic  life,  grows  out  of  it,  and 
is  developed  in  completion  of  it.  In  this  develop- 
ment purely  organic  stimuli  are  naturally  enlarged 
and  supplemented  by  conscious  appetites,  additive 
impulses  working  in  the  same  direction  with  the 
simply  physical  forces.  An  organic  stimulus  forti- 
fied in  consciousness  by  a  reciprocal  fact  becomes 
at  once  a  sensibility  and  an  appetite.  We  may 
speak  of  it  in  a  figurative  way  as  a  transfer  of  an 
organic  fact  into  consciousness.  So  extensively 
have  the  appetites,  the  mental  signs  of  organic 
states,  come  to  involve  with  us  conscious  activities, 
that  it  is  difficult  for  us  to  understand  how  per- 
fectly pure  organic  stimuli  can  operate  without 
them ;  and  how  secondary  conscious  pain  and 
pleasure  are  to  the  processes  which  they  now  indi- 
cate to  us  and  help  us  to  control.  The  sensibili- 
ties are  a  kind  of  attachment  to  a  mechanism  which 
may  be  quite  complete  within  itself.  These  indi- 
cators may  not  be,  or  they  may  exist  to  disclose 
states  with  little  control  over  them,  or  they  may  be 
guides  to  very  complete  government.  With  us 
they  are  often  more  than  this,  they  are  additive  im- 
pulses leading  to  lines  of  action  parallel  with  that 
induced  by  the  organic  tendency  but  very  much 
in  advance  of  it.     The  registration  of  an  engine 


ORDER   OF   DEVELOPMENT.  l8l 

instructs  the  engineer  as  to  its  present  condition, 
the  way  in  which  the  forces  involved  are  operating, 
though  the  dial  plates  are  not  these  forces.  Such 
a  registration  in  pain,  in  thirst  and  hunger  would 
be  a  first  link  of  connection  between  conscious  and 
unconscious  activities,  that  were  to  take  up  com- 
mon conditions  of  life  and  run  on  together. 

This  also  is  the  order  of  development  in  human 
life.  The  infant  enters  on  a  conscious  activity- 
first  through  the  sensibilities,  the  appetites,  and  is 
trained  for  months  almost  exclusively  in  this  school. 
We  need  not  insist  on  the  greedy  appetitive  char- 
acter of  animal  life,  especially  in  its  lower  forms. 

But  the  appetites  must  almost  immediately  be 
supported  in  consciousness  by  the  special  senses. 
An  appetitive  impulse  alone  in  consciousness  would 
add  nothing  to  the  life-forces,  but  rather  detract 
from  them.  The  unconscious  organic  stimuli  would 
still  be  left  to  work  the  muscular  mechanism,  and 
the  accompanying  conscious  state  would  be  simply 
a  waste  of  energy,  the  burning  of  a  taper  that 
guided  no  effort.  Appetite,  in  order  to  become  a 
power  acting  consciously,  must  be  associated  with 
other  conscious  facts,  with  one  or  more  forms  of 
perception.  The  impulse  has  thus  opened  to  it 
directions  in  which  it  may  expend  itself ;  the  con- 
scious being  begins  to  discriminate  the  things  that 
promote  its  pleasure,  to  associate  them  with  appro- 
priate action,  and  so  consciously  to  secure  its  own 
well-being.  Amid  germinating  sensibilities,  there- 
fore, as  farther  rudiments  of  the  coming  conscious 
life,   there   must   arise    the    general   and    special 


1 82  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS   ASSOCIATIVE. 

senses,  sensibilities  to  facts  supplementing  those 
to  pleasure  and  uniting  with  them  in  an  expe- 
rience. 

We  are  to  constantly  bear  in  mind,  however, 
that  the  organic  conditions  out  of  which  appetites 
and  sensations  alike  spring  as  additional  conscious 
facts  are  deeply  imbedded  in  the  physical  struc- 
ture, and  perform  very  fully  their  offices  in  an  au- 
tomatic way  without  any  help  from  consciousness. 
The  later  relation  is  not  the  earlier  one.  The  first 
and  second  terms  are  not  co-extensive,  though  when 
both  are  present  they  coalesce  in  one  result.  This 
unity  is  secured  by  the  prior  sufficiency  of  the 
purely  organic  element,  and  by  its  later  slow  mod- 
ification and  enlargement  through  the  volun- 
tary element.  The  machine  can  run  without  an 
index  or  an  engineer ;  and  when  the  engineer 
comes,  he  cautiously  unites  his  own  action  to  pre- 
vious action  through  this  registration  of  states. 

Conscious  life  must  have  not  only  two  kinds  of 
experiences  as  a  condition  of  its  associations,  but, 
also  the  power  to  unite  and  hold  them  in  a  system- 
atic way.  If  the  physical  stimuli  which  underlie 
the  sensations  blindly,  that  is,  automatically,  direct 
the  appetites,  then  both  sensations  and  appetites 
as  conscious  factors  are  superfluous,  idle  consump- 
tions of  energy  to  be  eliminated  by  natural  selec- 
tion. The  palpitation  of  the  stomach  in  hunger, 
or  the  fluttering  of  the  heart  in  fear,  is  a  simple 
disturbance  of  the  vital  mechanism,  unless  there  is 
present,  as  the  result  of  this  conscious  fact,  some 
slight  method  of  relief.     Sensations  and  sensibili- 


MEMORY   A   PURELY    MENTAL    POWER,  1 83 

ties  must,  then,  be  wrought  together  in  a  conscious 
experience,  so  that  out  of  them  there  shall  grow 
advantageous  lines  of  action.  Hence  memory  is  a 
third  primitive  constituent  in  the  unfolding  of  asso- 
ciative life,  rising  above  and  working  with  the  or- 
ganic life.  Memory  must  also  be  recognized  as  an 
absolutely  new  and  a  purely  mental  fact,  not  as  the 
shadow  of  a  physical  one.  When  the  return  of 
physical  conditions  calls  forth  memory,  there  is  the 
same  inscrutable  transformation,  or  transfer  in  po- 
sition, of  the  facts  involved,  from  the  physical  to 
the  mental  world,  from  space  to  consciousness, 
that  there  is  when  vibrations  become  sensations, 
sound  music,  or  floating  particles  odor.  If  not, 
then  the  conscious  life  fails  again  to  be  an  additive 
force,  and  is  once  more  a  waste  of  previous  forces. 
If  the  sensibility  is  simply  the  organic  stimulus 
disclosed  to  itself  as  a  craving,  and  the  sensation 
the  uncovering  of  the  surrounding  impulses,  and 
memory  a  conscious  experience  which  is  no  more 
than  the  repetition  of  inherent  self-united  nervous 
states,  then  the  entire  conscious  life,  and  memory 
with  it,  become  supernumerary,  the  empty  reflec- 
tion of  the  organic  life,  the  shadow  of  processes 
going  on,  indeed,  in  the  light,  but  which  could  with 
equal  certainty  have  proceeded  in  the  darkness. 
This  chasing  of  empty  images  by  each  other  in 
consciousness  would  thus  throughout  be  an  escape 
of  steam  in  the  air,  a  consumption  that  gives  no 
return  to  the  forces  that  sustain  it.  Such  a  life  of 
consciousness  would  be  in  reference  to  the  deeper 
organic  life,  a  fungus  to  be  worked  against  by  all 
the  laws  of  self-preservation. 


184  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS   ASSOCIATIVE. 

If,  then,  we  are  to  take  the  associative  life  for 
what  it  so  obviously  is,  a  higher,  fuller  life,  giving 
expansion  and  power  to  the  processes  below  it,  we 
must  make  its  elements,  to  wit,  sensibilities,  sensa- 
tions and  memory,  real  energies,  constituting  them- 
selves in  a  living  way  into  an  independent  expe- 
rience. Memory  thus  becomes  memory,  a  power 
that  takes  cognizance  of  the  facts  of  consciousness 
in  consciousness  itself,  and  so  weaves  them  into  an 
experience  which  is  not  the  mere  counterpart  of 
the  facts  themselves.  The  phenomena  of  conscious 
life  cease  to  be  regarded  as  the  mere  shadows  of 
organic  processes,  as  if  a  light  had  been  placed  in 
the  midst  of  revolving  wheels,  and  become  the  ex- 
pression of  a  delightfully  new  energy,  ready,  under 
its  own  laws  and  in  its  own  forms,  to  grow  up  out 
of  the  organic  life,  and  in  many  ways  to  over- 
shadow it.  This  relation  and  process  find  an  image 
in  the  steady  increase  and  growing  influence  of  the 
cerebrum,  the  organ  of  consciousness,  among  the 
other  cephalic  ganglia.  We  have  thus,  then.,  three 
constituents  of  consciousness  as  the  germs  of  mind, 
— sensibilities  and  appetites,  sensations  and  per- 
ceptions, and  memory. 

How  early  does  consciousness  arise  .'*  If  we  in- 
terpret, as  we  are  constantly  doing,  the  experience 
of  lower  animals  by  that  of  higher  ones,  we  should 
answer,  with  the  very  commencement  of  animal 
life.  Indeed,  nothing  but  conventional  sentiment 
would  prevent  our  attributing,  under  this  method,  a 
feeble  consciousness  to  some  plants.  If,  however, 
we  reason  from  the  character  of  the  nervous  sys- 


WHEN    CONSCIOUSNESS   APPEARS.  1 85 

tern,  which  is  undoubtedly  the  sole  organ  of  con- 
sciousness, and  from  the  stages  in  development  at 
which  a  conscious  experience  can  enter  as  a  profit- 
able factor,  we  shall  be  inclined  to  believe  that 
consciousness  especially  characterizes  the  Verte- 
brata,  and  appears  first  in  the  higher  Articulata  and 
Mollusca.  The  phenomena  of  consciousness  un- 
doubtedly increase  greatly  in  vigor  and  in  value 
as  we  pass  up  through  the  Vertebrata,  and  this  form 
of  activity  is  in  its  governing  relations  collected 
and  specialized  in  the  cerebrum. 

We  can  hardly  suppose  a  divided  consciousness 
in  the  same  animal,  as  there  is  no  experience  to 
guide  us  in  such  a  supposition,  and  as  the  oneness 
of  organic  action  and  interests  would  not  readily 
admit  of  it.  So  long,  therefore,  as  the  nervous 
system  exhibits  no  controlling  centre,  but  is  gath- 
ered sporadically  into  several  centres,  the  rudi- 
mentary senses  having  different  nervous  con- 
nections, we  have  no  reason  to  suppose  that  its 
action  is  attended  with  consciousness.  Not  till 
cephalization  is  so  far  complete  as  to  make  the  head 
a  controlling  centre  of  nervous  phenomena,  have 
we  the  preparation  for  a  conscious  life,  which  can 
maintain  its  unity,  and  so  accumulate  a  valuable 
experience  by  virtue  of  coherent  and  continuous 
phenomena.  Indeed,  in  the  Vertebrata,  whose  mode 
of  life  is  undeniably  and  preeminently  conscious, 
as  compared  with  that  of  other  sub-kingdoms,  we 
have  not  merely  cephalization,  but  distinct  ganglia, 
the  cerebrum,  as  the  special  organ  of  consciousness, 
giving  it  a  force  and  unity  of  action  not  approached 


1 86  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS    ASSOCIATIVE. 

elsewhere.  We  might  reason  to  the  entire  absence 
of  consciousness  in  lower  animals  from  the  absence 
of  this  organ  of  intelligence.  This  argument,  how- 
ever, would  be  unsafe,  as  a  function  before  it  is 
fully  specialized  in  one  organ,  is  often  spread 
through  allied  organs.  Lower  ganglia,  in  the  ab- 
sence of  higher  ones,  undoubtedly  have  a  more 
extended  service,  precisely  as  many  pigment-spots 
may  do  partially  the  work  of  two  complete  eyes. 
There  are  also  present  in  the  cuttle-fish  ganglia 
which  may  be  homologous  to  the  cerebrum.  Yet 
there  seems  good  ground  to  believe  that  conscious- 
ness arises  slowly  with  the  increase  of  that  unity 
in  the  nervous  system  which  puts  it  under  the  con- 
trol of  a  single  centre,  gathers  the  senses  about 
that  centre,  and  knits  the  organic  life  as  closely  as 
does  consciousness  our  intellectual  activity.  Cer- 
tainly from  the  fact  that  in  the  only  region  in  which 
we  have  a  direct  knowledge  of  the  phenomena  of 
consciousness,  they  owe  their  unity  to  one  supreme 
organ,  we  should  infer  that  the  two  terms  of  de- 
velopment, nervous  and  intellectual,  have  the  con- 
nection now  indicated  ;  that  consciousness  becomes 
the  specialized  function  of  the  cerebrum  from  a 
previously  weak,  vague  and  confused  form. 

We  also  reach  the  same  conclusion  from  the 
development  of  the  senses.  Those  which,  like  the 
senses  of  touch  and  smell,  are  close  and  narrow  in 
their  action,  may  readily  operate  in  full  force  auto- 
matically. So  may  the  sense  of  sight,  when  it  is  a 
simple  discrimination  between  light  and  darkness, 
or  the  condition  of  adjustment  to  things  just  at 


PRESENCE    OF    CONSCIOUSNESS.  1 8/ 

hand ;  and  the  sense  of  hearing,  when  it  is  a  recog- 
nition of  the  jar  of  vibrations,  rather  than  a  distin- 
guishing between  sounds,  leading  to  a  distinction 
of  their  sources.  Sight,  in  its  advanced  forms, 
preeminently  ministers  to  the  conscious  life.  By 
virtue  of  the  distance  and  complexity  of  the  phe- 
nomena offered,  it  calls  for  an  extended  selection 
between  them,  courting  the  aid  of  experience. 
Growth  in  the  range  and  clearness  of  vision  is 
doubtless  accompanied  by  a  corresponding  enlarge- 
ment of  consciousness,  ready  to  take  in  and  ser- 
viceably  combine  these  numerous  facts.  We  should 
hence  infer  in  the  higher  Articulata  and  Mollusca 
a  dawning  consciousness  as  the  first  effort  to 
economize  superior  senses. 

The  sense  of  hearing,  even  more  than  that  of 
sight,  is  complex  and  intellectual  in  its  later  facts, 
and  implies,  therefore,  if  these  are  present  in  any 
good  degree,  a  clear  consciousness  supporting  and 
interpreting  them.  This  sense  more  than  any 
other  owes  its  value  to  the  mental  activities  that  lie 
back  of  it,  and  rapidly  falls  away  with  any  weak- 
ness of  the  intellectual  faculties.  What,  how  much, 
and  how  we  hear,  as  well  as  what  we  see,  are  set- 
tled almost  wholly  by  the  conscious  life,  and  these 
two  senses  can  become  full  and  intellectually  com- 
plex only  in  connection  with  a  deepening  and  en- 
larging consciousness.  These  senses  have  no  fuller 
stream  than  is  sufficient  to  float  the  life  that  rides 
on  them.  When,  therefore.  Sir  John  Lubbock 
shows  that  the  higher  insects,  as  ants,  are  poor 
listeners  ;  and  with  their  out-standing  eyes  have 


1 88  ANIMAL    LIFE   AS    ASSOCIATIVE. 

but  narrow  vision,  he  brings  great  limitations  to 
their  intelHgence."*  In  all  that  region  of  animal  life 
in  which  these  two  senses  are  greatly  restricted  in 
development,  and  still  further  restricted  in  use,  we 
infer  a  narrow  consciousness,  that  stands  on  no 
terms  of  comparison  with  that  of  the  upper  Ver- 
tebrata. 

We  also  conclude,  in  a  general  way,  that  the 
instinctive  and  the  associative  life  bear  an  inverse 
ratio  to  each  other.  Our  knowledge  where  it  is 
fullest  in  the  higher  Vertebrata  establishes  this  re- 
lation. There  is  in  man  but  a  very  small  remain- 
der of  instincts,  while  they  rapidly  increase  as  we 
pass  downward.  This  conclusion  is  also  involved 
in  the  very  nature  of  the  case,  as  instincts  and  ex- 
perience tend  mutually  to  replace,  and  so  to  exclude, 
each  other.  The  instinct,  in  its  own  range,  sup- 
plies the  place  of  experience  ;  while  experience 
once  present  narrows  down  the  range  of  instinct. 
We  would,  therefore,  conclude  that  insects,  with 
which  instincts  culminate,  have  a  relatively  narrow 
experience,  most  of  their  action  taking  place  in 
absolute  darkness,  or  in  the  light  of  a  glimmering 
intellectual  day. 

The  clearest  proof  of  consciousness  in  doubtful 
territory  is  memory.  This  faculty  is  the  basis  of 
experience,  and  not  till  it  has  been  obtained  can 
the  facts  of  consciousness,  if  any  are  present,  begin 
to  be  organized  into  knowledge.  The  action  of 
memory  is  also  more  readily  discriminated  from 

*  Popular  Science  Monthly,  vol.  xi.  p.  51. 


MEMORY   AND    CONSCIOUSNESS.  1 89 

automatic  action  than  is  the  conscious  from  the 
unconscious  use  of  the  senses.  While  instinct  may 
take  on  a  periodic  form,  somewhat  allied  to  recol- 
lection, true  memory  can  be  distinguished  by  the 
variability  and  precision  of  its  action.  When  a  bee 
returns  to  the  same  place  for  honey  on  successive 
journeys,  till  all  is  removed,  and  then  at  once  dis- 
continues its  visits,  it  is  safe  to  suppose  that  the 
amount  of  the  food  is  present  to  its  memory.  Yet 
careful  observation  exposes  much  confusion  in  the 
minds  of  bees  and  ants,  and  many  futile  efforts 
through  the  lack  of  memory.  They  seem  to  take 
little  note  of  direction  as  direction,  to  be  easily  led 
out  of  the  way  by  a  change  of  scent,  and  to  be  en- 
tirely baffled  if  this  is  lost.  Bees  and  ants  not  only 
have  little  or  no  power  to  impart  to  each  other  the 
locality  of  food,  they  themselves  retrace  their  own 
steps  instinctively,  not  constructively.  Bees  search 
flowers  much  at  random  ;  and  in  the  motion  of 
ants  there  is  much  of  that  irregular,  vacilating 
movement  which  belongs  to  a  hound  that  has  lost 
the  scent.  This  instinctive  control  of  a  familiar 
path  is  seen  in  higher  animals  than  bees.  A  gopher 
was  filling  his  nest  with  straw.  He  had  moved  re- 
peatedly in  a  straight  line  from  one  heap  to  the 
mouth  of  his  hole.  Disturbed  in  his  course,  he 
turned  aside  and  discovered  a  second  heap  much 
nearer.  He  helped  himself  and  returned  to  his 
nest.  When  again  he  made  his  appearance  he  still 
followed  the  longer  and  more  familiar  way,  without 
seeming  to  recall  his  last  experience. 

The  weakness  of  memory  in  bees  is  indicated  by 


1 90  ANIMAL   LIFE    AS   ASSOCIATIVE. 

facts  given  by  Kirby  and  Spence.  "  If  during  their 
absence  their  old  hive  be  taken  away,  and  a  similar 
one  set  in  its  place,  they  enter  this  last ;  and,  if  it 
be  provided  with  brood-comb,  contentedly  take  up 
their  abode  in  it,  never  troubling  themselves  to  in- 
quire what  has  become  of  the  identical  habitation 
which  they  left  in  the  morning,  and  with  the  inhab- 
itants of  which,  if  it  be  removed  to  fifty  yards  dis- 
tance, they  never  resume  their  association."*  This 
is  a  very  significant  fact,  when  taken  with  another 
fact  already  referred  to,  the  great  indifference  which 
bees,  and  frequently  ants,  show  to  the  fortunes  of 
their  fellows.  Affections  are  fed  by  recollections, 
and  where  there  is  little  affection  there  is  little  mem- 
ory, and  a  vanishing  experience.  The  general  in- 
difference of  bees  to  their  social  surroundings,  which 
prepares  them  for  the  slaughter  of  the  drones,  also 
shows  them  to  feel  but  faintly  the  tender  touches 
of  memory. 

In  the  Vertebrata,  the  great  field  of  associative 
life,  there  is  undoubtedly  a  steady  increase  as  we 
pass  upward  in  the  number  and  variety  of  facts  that 
occupy  consciousness.  A  special  organization,  a 
peculiarly  vigorous  sense,  as  of  scent  in  the  hound, 
or  of  vision  in  the  vulture,  may  give  varieties  of  ex- 
perience, but  the  law  of  general  progress  in  con- 
scious facts  is  not  thereby  materially  modified.  The 
tendency  even  here,  however,  is  unduly  strong  to 
transfer  our  enlarged  activities  to  our  mute  friends 
below  us,  and  to  make  a  fact  in  their  experience  the 

*  Entomology,  p.  565. 


SUFFERING   AND    CONSCIOUSNESS.  IQI 

centre  of  thoughts  and  affections  similar  to  those 
that  would  cluster  about  it  in  ours.  The  sun's 
rays  may  steal  without  observation  through  the  dry 
air,  or  they  may  trace  in  all  directions  on  its  vapors 
paths  of  radiance ;  the  light  of  consciousness  may 
be  barren  to  the  mind,  or  bring  with  it  many  mystic 
visions.  These  profound  differences  in  the  inner 
experiences  of  distinct  grades  of  life  will  appear 
more  and  more  clearly  as  we  contrast  associative  and 
rational  action.  We  argue  directly  and  mercifully 
this  limited  light  of  the  mind  in  animals  from  the 
evidently  reduced  effects  of  suffering.  We  are  to 
remember  that  purely  automatic  action  presents  the 
same  visible  and  even  audible  signs  which  belong 
to  complete  consciousness.  When  the  divided 
angle-worm  wriggles  and  writhes  in  the  path,  there 
may  seem  to  be  acute  suffering  along  its  entire 
length,  yet  the  probability  remains  that  both  halves 
are  alike  unconscious  of  the  injury  done  them. 
When  the  head  of  a  hen  is  cut  off,  the  child  bestows 
its  sympathy  on  the  convulsive  throes  of  the  body, 
yet  it  is  the  head,  fallen  behind  the  log,  that  calls 
for  attention,  if  either  part  claims  it.  The  heart 
may  throb  for  "  some  time  "  after  it  has  been  taken 
from  the  body,  but  it  indicates  thereby  only  the  ex- 
penditure of  a  remnant  of  nervous  energy.  "  Im- 
pressions which  in  normal  conditions  would  excite 
groans  or  cries,  and  also  painful  sensations,  under 
certain  degrees  of  anaesthesia  elicit  merely  the  groans 
and  cries,"  with  no  indication  of  conscious  suffer- 
ing.* 

*  Functions  of  the  Brain,  p.  69. 


192  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS   ASSOCIATIVE. 

A  careful  observation  of  animals  shows  that  in- 
juries are  far  less  distressing  to  them  than  to  man. 
Insects  make  light  of  the  loss  of  a  limb.  Dogs  will 
continue  a  battle  with  unflagging  courage  when 
fatal  wounds  have  been  inflicted  that  would  have 
quickly  sapped  the  nervous  energy  of  man.  I  have 
seen  a  hen,  whose  leg  had  been  stepped  on  and 
broken  by  a  cow,  hasten  up  on  the  protruding  bone 
the  moment  she  was  released  from  under  the  foot 
of  the  stolid  beast,  in  order  to  claim  afresh  her 
share  of  the  meal  the  larger  brute  was  devouring. 
Horses  draw  all  day  on  galled  shoulders  with  com- 
paratively little  show  of  suffering.  A  reduction  of 
consciousness,  and  so  of  pain,  undoubtedly  attends 
on  a  less  highly  organized  nervous  system.  The  as- 
sociative life  is  as  much  less  sensitive  as  it  is  less 
penetrative  than  the  rational  life  which  Hes  above 
it ;  the  two  are  different  sides  of  the  same  fact.  Nor 
does  this  general  dulness  of  feeling  exclude  unusual 
acuteness  of  perception  in  single  directions.  The 
stimuli  in  these  cases,  as  of  odor,  may  be  largely 
automatic.  The  dog  does  not  take  up  in  terms  of 
knowledge  the  greater  part  of  his  organic  discrim- 
inations. Connections  in  the  human  mind,  origin- 
ally conscious  and  voluntary,  may  become  so  obscure 
and  automatic  as  to  take  effect  against  the  express 
purpose  and  best  knowledge  of  the  person  involved, 
as  shown  in  table-tipping.  An  anticipation  of  a  re- 
sult will  easily  work  its  way  through  the  sub-con- 
scious mechanism  of  the  human  body  to  its  own  re- 
alization. With  the  facts  of  mind-reading  and  kin- 
dred facts  before  us,  we  have  no  occasion  to  sur- 


FORM   OF   THE   ASSOCIATIVE   LIFE.  I93 

round,  as  we  do,  the  mental  activities  of  brutes  with 
the  clear  light  of  consciousness.  In  most  animals 
the  mental  revelation  is  to  the  organic  movement 
which  underlies  it,  what  the  feeble  flash  is  to  the 
powerful  electric  current. 

It  is  very  difficult  for  us  to  conceive  the  form 
which  the  associative  life  assumes  when  separated 
from  rational  insight.  We  suppose  it  most  nearly 
to  resemble  a  distinct,  realistic  dream,  in  which  ob- 
jects present  themselves,  and  events  move  on,  with 
no  control  or  reflection  on  our  part.  The  chief 
feature  of  this  life,  as  in  the  dream,  is  the  manner 
in  which  the  attention  is  absorbed  by  the  objects 
before  the  mind,  the  way  in  which  they  come  and 
go  of  their  own  impulse,  while  the  feelings  preserve 
an  unbroken  flow  with  them.  The  passing  moment 
is  a  charmed  circle  beyond  which  the  thoughts 
travel  not,  no  matter  what  things  may  flow  through 
it.  The  associative  life  deals  with  the  concrete,  with 
an  eternal  now  and  here.  Other  experiences  may 
modify  this  experience,  but  they  do  it  directly,  as- 
sociatively  by  a  sensational  term  before  the  mind. 
All  is  changeable  surface,  flickering  shadows  in  this 
shallow  light,  and  the  thoughts  raise  no  questions 
of  the  hereafter. 

The  dog  presents  perhaps  the  highest  form  of 
this  life.  And  the  highest  attitude  of  his  life  is  his 
affectionate  absorption  into  the  experiences  of  man. 
His  master  is  to  him  a  physical  gnomon,  whose 
shadows  follow  each  other  almost  mechanically  on 
the  dial-plate  of  his  existence,  and  mark  all  its  pe- 
riods.    When  he  pines  for  his  master,  it  is  not  for 


194  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS   ASSOCIATIVE. 

an  abstract,  ideal  conception,  but  for  a  well-known 
compound  of  qualities,  odors,  actions,  whose  ab- 
sence, like  that  of  a  meal,  is  here  and  now  felt.  His 
affections  are  no  more  of  a  transcendent  character 
than  are  hunger  and  thirst,  and  survive  ill-usage  as 
these  appetites  survive  bad  food  and  poor  water. 
The  associative  life  is  preeminently  direct  and 
concrete  in  its  objects.  It  abides  steadfast,  like  an 
island  in  a  river,  or  a  ruling  impression  in  a  revery, 
while  the  world  floats  by  it,  and  acts  insensibly 
on  it. 

We  are  thus  led  to  believe  that  there  is  at  most 
but  a  dim  consciousness  in  the  Mollusca  and  Artic- 
ulata,  and  one  confined  to  the  higher  genera.  We 
infer  it  from  a  scattered  nervous  system  in  the 
lower  members  of  the  sub-kingdoms,  from  very  re- 
stricted organs  of  sense,  from  the  weakness  of  mem- 
ory even  in  the  higher  orders,  and  from  the  uni- 
versal presence,  extent  and  strength  of  instinct.  In 
the  Vertebrata  we  reason  more  certainly,  since  we 
have  a  recognized  organ  of  consciousness,  the  cere- 
brum, whose  development  we  can  easily  trace.  We 
start  again  without  consciousness  in  the  Amphioxus, 
and  pass  a  long  way  up  through  its  very  feeble  and 
its  secondary  development,  till  at  length,  in  the 
higher  animals,  the  cerebrum  is  the  primary  ner- 
vous organ,  and  consciousness  is  the  constructive 
force  of  the  external  life,  and  in  man  is  the  condi- 
tion of  a  wholly  new  interior  life. 

We  need  to  see  more  distinctly  the  three  ele- 
ments of  which  this  form  of  intelligence  is  made 
up.     Appetites  and  sensibilities  are  its  first  term  : 


INSTRUMENTS   OF   THE   ASSOCIATIVE   LIFE.     1 95 

keen  appetites,  since  they  spring  from  a  vigorous 
physical  system,  kept  in  healthy  tension,  are  over- 
shadowed and  embarrassed  by  few  other  impulses, 
and  are  restrained  by  no  conscientious  scruples  ; 
quick  sensibilities,  since  the  whole  nervous  mechan- 
ism, like  a  silent  bell,  waits  for  the  few  strokes  of 
attention  that  time  records  on  it.  The  overbearing 
influence  of  the  organic  life,  and  the  entire  absence 
of  the  rational  element,  are  seen  in  the  limits  which 
these  energetic  animal  appetites  set  themselves, 
both  as  to  the' kind  and  quantity  of  food.  Though 
the  animal  occasionally  seems  to  be  caught  in  error  or 
in  gluttony  as  to  his  food,  it  is  usually  in  appearance 
only.  There  is  in  some  animals,  as  in  snakes,  a 
physical  elasticity  which  enables  them  to  put  long 
intervals  between  their  meals,  and  to  eat  large 
amounts.  The  decision  and  safety  which  charac- 
terize the  appetites  of  animals  must  give  them  also 
great  positiveness  and  concentration  as  intellectual 
elements.  They  must  for  the  moment  as  perfectly 
absorb  the  mind  as  they  do  the  body. 

The  same  is  true  of  constitutional  sensibilities 
leading  to  activity  or  to  rest ;  to  courageous  on- 
slaught, cunning  retreat,  or  timid  flight ;  to  attach- 
ments and  repulsions  between  species,  and  between 
individuals  of  the  same  species ;  to  natural  affec- 
tions, blazing  up  under  provocation  into  fierce  anger, 
and  dying  down  as  the  danger  retires  into  fondling 
love  ;  to  fidelities  of  one  sort  or  another,  yet  so 
strong  that  faithfulness  may  find  its  best  image  in 
a  horse  or  a  dog.  In  these  sensibilities  there  are 
the  same  decisive  limits,  the  almost  complete  ex- 


196  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS   ASSOCIATIVE. 

elusion  of  one  thing  by  another,  the  same  concen- 
tration of  experience  in  the  phase  through  which  it 
is  passing.  The  life  of  the  brute  is  painted  in  a 
few  simple  colors,  the  life  of  man  is  laid  in  with 
many  depths  of  color,  all  struggling  to  the  surface 
in  the  final  result.  In  these  simple,  vigorous  im- 
pulses, not  all  present  in  any  one  animal,  nor  pre- 
sent in  numbers  at  any  one  time  to  soften  and 
distract  each  other,  we  get  elements  of  the  sim- 
plest character,  associatively  compounded  into  a 
few  strong  tendencies.  We  have  a  few  forces  that 
will  push  unhesitatingly  and  energetically  in  the 
ways  open  to  them. 

Passing  these  active  elements,  the  second  set  of 
constituents  are  varied  and  keen  senses.  The  dis- 
criminations of  the  senses  have  no  known  limits. 
They  may  fall  much  below  the  power  they  show  in 
man,  and  they  may  greatly  overpass  it.  That  per- 
ception in  animals  does,  in  single  directions  and  in 
organic  force,  outstrip  perception  in  man  is  evi- 
dent. The  most  familiar  example  is  that  of  scent. 
The  unhesitating  and  rapid  pursuit  by  a  dog  of  his 
master,  even  through  a  thoroughfare,  guided  by  the 
odor  of  his  footsteps,  indicates  an  acuteness  of 
smell  of  which  we  know  nothing.  Two  things,  how- 
ever, are  to  be  remembered.  Such  a  perception  as 
this  widens  but  a  very  little  the  mental  horizon, 
and  serves  rather  to  take  the  place  of  than  to 
awaken  intellectual  action  ;  and  that  this  keenness 
of  one  or  two  senses  has  universally  an  immediate 
reference  to  the  habits  of  the  animal,  and  serves 
simply  to  impress  upon  it  more  strongly  a  narrow 


INSTRUMENTS   OF   THE   ASSOCIATIVE   LIFE.     IQ/ 

type  of  character.  In  other  words,  these  keen 
senses  are  not  general  but  special  instruments,  not 
intellectual  but  physical  agents  ;  they  run  in  a  nar- 
row rut,  not  in  an  open  field,  are  not  so  much  broad 
as  far-reaching,  do  not  so  much  rise  high  in  intel- 
lectual light  as  sink  deep  in  organic  structure.  The 
way  in  which  these  restricted  sensibilities  and  keen 
senses  would  unite  in  a  few  complete  and  decisive 
phases  of  action  is  very  plain.  The  whole  intellec- 
tual realm  would  be  quickly  beaten  by  them  into 
a  limited  number  of  narrow  paths,  and  have  in  all 
its  open  spaces  no  further  significance.  The  mind 
of  the  simple-hearted  brute  thus  stands  in  complete 
contrast  with  the  mind  of  man  ;  the  interstitial 
spaces  of  primary  thought  all  occupied  by  modify- 
ing conditions;  the  canvas  covered  with  the  elab- 
orate facts  of  life.  Such  senses  as  ours  would  over- 
whelm with  what  they  give  a  constructive  power 
less  vigorous  than  ours. 

The  third  element  is  memory.  This  may  be  and 
often  is  very  retentive  in  the  animal.  There  is  no 
reason  why  it  should  not  be,  for  the  range  of  objects 
is  restricted,  and  these  objects  are  closely  asso- 
ciated with  daily  well-being.  Concentration  and 
reiteration,  the  two  conditions  of  impressing  the 
memory,  pass  in  the  experience  of  the  brute  into 
an  extreme  form.  The  narrow  wheel  cannot  fail  to 
rut  the  ground  over  which  it  travels.  Out  of  these 
two  elements,  with  this  strong  combining  power, 
there  must  arise  an  associative  life  which  shall  show 
many  striking  attainments,  all  the  more  striking 
from  their  detached,  isolated  character.  A  series  of 


198  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS   ASSOCIATIVE. 

memoriter  judgments  will  be  woven  together  by 
experience,  which,  when  resting  back  on  full  or- 
ganic impulses,  and  large  instincts,  will  make  a  very- 
complete,  and,  in  its  own  grade,  a  very  self-sufficing 
life. 

When  we  speak  of  memoriter  or  associative 
judgments,  we  are  using  the  words  in  an  accommo- 
dative way.  Such  a  union  by  memory  of  things  that 
have  often  appeared  together  in  experience  is  not 
properly  a  judgment.  A  judgment  involves  a  ra- 
tional insight  into  the  relations  of  subject  and 
predicate,  and  a  direct,  conscious  union  of  the  two 
in  a  specified  connection.  A  memoriter  judgment 
is  only  a  quasi  judgment,  the  union  of  two  impres- 
sions in  consciousness  referable  to  the  simple  fact 
that  they  have  been  so  united  in  experience.  We 
term  such  a  union  of  ideas  indifferently  a  memor- 
iter or  an  associative  judgment,  though  the  basis 
of  it  is  exclusively  the  power  of  memory.  An  as- 
sociative judgment  is  likely  to  be  more  decisive, 
and  have  a  more  immediate  governing  power,  than 
a  rational  one.  When  the  dog  smells  the  step  of 
his  master,  the  odor  acts  as  energetically  in  restor- 
ing the  conception  of  the  master  as  would  vision  it- 
self ;  when  the  hunter  infers  the  whereabouts  of 
game  by  a  rational  interpretation  of  signs,  he  feels 
uncertain  in  proportion  as  he  gets  away  from  the 
direct  testimony  of  the  senses.  It  is  impossible  in 
man  to  separate  fully  the  memoriter  and  the  ra- 
tional elements  in  judgments — the  inference  and 
the  association.  In  proportion,  however,  as  the  re- 
flective  life  becomes    vigorous,    associations    are 


FORMATION   OF   ASSOCIATIONS.  1 99 

pushed  into  the  background;  and,  on  the  other 
hand,  in  the  degree  in  which  the  activity  of  the 
senses  is  uppermost,  do  the  associative  judgments 
of  the  animal,  as  in  savages  and  hunters,  prevail. 
Let  us  see  how  such  associations  are  formed  in  the 
experience  of  the  brute. 

The  leopard  steals  cautiously  upon  a  herd  'of 
deer :  animals  swift,  timid,  with  a  quick  scent  and 
alert  ear.  The  leopard  must  needs  approach  them, 
therefore,  very  slowly,  silently  and  secretly  from  the 
leeward.  He  must  not  snap  a  dead  branch,  or  stir 
a  living  one.  He  must  crouch  low  and  glide  stealth- 
ily toward  his  prey.  How  plainly  organic  structure, 
instinctive  tendencies,  and  acquired  associations 
work  together  in  the  final  result.  The  crouching 
movement  and  the  sudden  terrible  spring  are  or- 
ganic ;  the  caution,  the  patience,  the  sharp  atten- 
tion are  organic  and  instinctive  tendencies,  shaped 
and  confirmed  by  long  use  ;  the  avoidance  of  crack- 
ling under-brush,  and  the  approach  against  the  wind, 
are  associative  judgments.  How  inevitably  would 
experience  in  an  eager,  alert,  sensitive  organism 
issue  in  these  and  in  like  items  of  knowledge.  The 
broken  branch,  the  sharp  sound,  the  instantly 
startled  deer  would  form  one  clear,  indelible  image, 
an  associative  judgment  not  to  be  forgotten. 

We  are  constantly  to  remember  that  the  con- 
nection of  the  two  things,  noise  and  failure,  does 
not  arise  in  the  animal  from  reasoning,  nor  lead  to 
reasoning  as  it  would  do  in  man.  The  simplest 
fact  with  us  may  provoke  a  series  of  thoughts,  and 
as   a  fact   get  its  interpretation  and   intellectual 


200  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS    ASSOCIATIVE. 

force  from  this  tracing  of  causes.  Our  reflective 
powers,  like  ambient  light,  begin  at  once  to  play- 
about  every  succession  of  events.  Reasons,  causes 
with  us  underlie  everything.  We  do  not  allow  cir- 
cumstances simply  to  follow  each  other,  but  we  be- 
gin at  once  to  put  under  them  these  connections 
of  the  mind.  Not  thus  is  it  in  purely  associative 
judgments.  Two  facts,  with  no  discussion  of  rea- 
sons or  causes,  with  none  of  these  satellites  of  the 
mind  to  revolve  about  them,  are  picked  up  and 
united  in  memory,  so  that  the  first  brings  with  it 
as  an  image  the  second.  The  connection  between 
them  is  the  connection  of  a  dream,  of  a  panorama, 
and  not  one  of  reasons.  We  should  be  able  the 
more  easily  to  understand  this  purely  phenomenal 
flow  of  events,  since  our  dreams  give  us  so  famil- 
iar an  example  of  it. 

The  only  difficulty  in  these  associative  judg- 
ments is  to  understand  how  the  animal,  in  a  com- 
plicated experience,  singles  out  the  two  things 
which  hold  a  practically  valuable  relation  to  each 
other,  and  unites  them  in  memory  to  the  exclusion 
of  other  things.  What  is  the  force  of  selection  ? 
In  the  specific  case,  how  does  the  leopard,  without 
reflection,  connect  the  crackling  of  a  dry  twig  with 
the  flight  of  the  deer,  since  other  facts  besides 
these  two  must  at  the  same  time  be  present  in  its 
consciousness } 

In  the  first  place,  under  an  imperious  appetite 
and  searching  senses,  the  consciousness  of  a  beast 
of  prey,  in  the  exertion  of  his  powers,  is  much 
more  limited  and   exclusive   than  it  would  be  in 


FORMATION    OF    ASSOCIATIONS.  201 

man,  and  those  items  alone  in  it  receive  attention 
or  come  into  prominence,  which  immediately  bear 
on  the  action  going  forward.  This  is  as  inevitable 
as  that  a  muscle  being  excited  should  receive  the 
strain  and  rise  on  the  surface.  We  may  liken  the 
results  in  the  memory  to  those  on  the  plate  of  the 
photographer,  when  the  light  falls  clearly  on  two 
portions  only  of  the  objects  present.  These  would 
immediately  stand  forth  in  close  association,  while 
other  parts  would  fall  quite  away.  What  is  termed 
the  sagacity  of  brutes  lies  just  here,  the  bold  relief 
which  they  by  special  appetites,  affections,  senses, 
give  to  particular  portions  of  their  experience,  and 
the  degree,  therefore,  in  which  they  practically, 
not  reflectively,  analyze  it,  and  recombine  it  for 
their  own  ends.  A  stupid  brute  not  only  receives 
faint  impressions,  he  receives  uniformly  (which  is 
much  more  important)  faint  impressions,  hence,  its 
experience  remains  in  limbo,  precisely  as  it  found 
it.  A  series  of  sensations  pass  by,  but  none  are 
selected  and  combined  ;  there  is  no  associative 
union  between  related  parts.  Let  effects  be  regis- 
tered in  hungry  appetites,  lively  sensibilities  ;  and 
let  the  answering  causes  be  recorded  in  alert  senses, 
and  a  strong  ray  of  light,  falling  on  each  member  of 
the  judgment,  fastens  it  in  the  memory,  and  the 
memory  holds  it  tenaciously  for  future  service. 
Thus  the  brute  is  wiser  by  a  fixed  association,  a 
working  principle,  than  it  was  before.  Nor  need 
we  represent  this  process  as  at  all  a  mechanical 
one.  It  has  a  large  organic  element,  and  also  a 
decisively  intellectual  one.     While  different  objects 


202  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS    ASSOCIATIVE. 

make  different  constitutional  appeals  to  the  brute, 
there  is  none  the  less  in  the  perception  a  true  men- 
tal quality.  To  this  is  added  a  direction  of  atten- 
tion, and  a  treasuring  of  results  in  memory.  In 
dreams,  though  we  often  seem  to  control  nothing, 
objects  are  not  equally  impressed  on  the  mind,  and 
a  central  current  of  events  finds  a  channel  through 
the  automatic  panorama. 

If  we  consider  the  second  and  more  difficult  as- 
sociations in  the  example  referred  to,  that  which 
leads  the  leopard  to  approach  against  the  wind,  we 
shall  find  its  formation  slower,  perhaps,  but  hardly 
less  certain.  We  cannot  suppose  the  leopard,  with 
a  sudden  recognition  of  causes,  virtually  to  say  to 
himself:  "If  I  come  near  on  this  side,  these  deer 
are  sure  to  detect  my  presence  by  odor  and  sound, 
but  if  I  slip  around  and  steal  up  against  the  wind, 
I  shall  easily  accomplish  my  purpose ; "  we  be- 
lieve rather  that  his  instincts  and  experience  com- 
bine to  issue  in  this  method,  a  method  transferred 
by  descent,  example  and  kindred  experience  to  his 
offspring.  The  leopard  himself,  guided  as  much  by 
odor  and  sound  as  by  sight,  would,  in  much  the 
majority  of  cases,  become  aware  of  the  neighbor- 
hood of  deer  when  they  were  to  the  windward  of 
him.  The  same  circumstances  that  concealed  him 
from  the  deer  would  disclose  the  deer  to  him.  His 
approach,  therefore,  would  usually  be  made,  as  a 
matter  ot  fact  simply,  from  this  side,  and  would 
be  frequently  successful.  On  the  other  hand, 
when  he  came  with  the  wind,  the  deer  in  the  major- 
ity of  cases  would  be  aware  of  his  nearness  before 


FORMATION    OF   ASSOCIATIONS.  203 

he  recognized  them,  and  in  case  of  an  onslaught 
would  easily  escape,  from  the  early  alarm.  Thus 
so  general  an  experience  would  rapidly  fasten  itself 
in  the  mind,  or,  rather  in  the  memory,  of  the  leop- 
ard, that  successful  hunting  is  to  be  done  against  the 
wind.  The  wind,  moreover,  is  not  an  obscure  and 
secondary  agent  to  the  senses  of  an  animal,  but, 
laden  with  sounds  and  odors,  is  a  primary  fact. 
Let  food  be  habitually  found  in  the  movement  up  a 
stream  and  not  down  it,  and  a  fish  even  could 
hardly  miss  so  palpable  a  fact.  We  forget  that  our 
very  tendency  to  reason  leads  us  to  leave  events 
much  less  carefully  analyzed  by  the  senses  than  does 
the  eager  animal,  whose  powers  are  all  taken  up  by 
the  senses.  The  thing  that  is  profitable  to  him  is 
the  thing  that  speedily  gets  foremost  in  his  impres- 
sions. Grant  an  eager,  sensitive  organism,  running 
freely  in  the  lines  of  constitutional  impulses,  and  a 
complicated  and  valuable  experience  would  at  once 
begin  to  grow  up,  and  find  easy  transmission  by 
physical  and  social  descent. 

The  organic  and  the  instinctive  elements  which 
underlie  such  an  experience,  striking  up  into  it  and 
mingling  with  it,  would  often  give  very  startling  re- 
sults, seeming  to  imply  rare  inteUigence.  We  can 
see,  also,  how  the  associative  experience,  springing 
up  as  an  expansion  of  the  instinctive  life,  and  itself 
a  more  complete  and  flexible  adaptation,  would  be- 
gin at  once  to  react  on  that  life,  first  give  it  pliancy 
and  breadth,  and  then  absorb  it  in  itself.  The  Wind 
instinct  would  slowly  yield  before  the  coy,  obser- 
vant intelligence ;  and  this  power,  more  and  more 


204  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS    ASSOCIATIVE. 

accumulating  the  conditions  of  growth,  would  spread 
over  the  debatable  ground  of  action  by  which  the 
animal  adapts  himself  to  his  environment.  Sharp 
appetites,  quick  senses  and  a  ready  memory  would 
inevitably  bury  under  a  growing  experience  of  as- 
sociative judgments  the  primitive  work  of  instinct, 
and  themselves  become  the  soil  in  which  the  seeds 
of  a  clear,  reflective  life  could  be  planted. 

That  associative  life,  with  slowly  accumulated 
products  of  knowledge,  in  many  cases  wrought  into 
and  held  firm  by  instincts,  is  coextensive  with  the 
higher  animal  life,  and  can  satisfactorily  explain 
its  phenomena,  there  is  but  little  doubt.  Indeed, 
in  discussing  the  sufficiency  of  this  exposition,  we 
may  well  remember  that  there  is  an  influential 
school  of  philosophy,  which  would  give  much  greater 
extension  to  this  view,  and  make  all  intelligence  in 
origin  and  development  associative.  The  subtile 
way  in  which  an  instinct  may  linger  on,  and  shape 
associative  experience,  is  seen  in  the  tendency  to 
feign  death,  so  common  in  lower  animals,  reappear- 
ing in  higher  ones ;  or  in  the  deception  practiced 
so  frequently  by  birds,  and  by  birds  so  unlike  as  an 
ostrich  and  a  partridge,  that  of  fluttering  along  the 
ground  to  attract  attention  and  aid  the  retreat  of 
young. 

The  lower  animals  mislead  each  other,  and 
are  easily  misled,  by  stillness.  The  gopher  will 
stand  perfectly  quiet  on  its  hind  legs,  and  is  then 
readily  mistaken  for  a  stick.  On  the  other  hand, 
if  one  remains  perfectly  still,  his  presence  soon 
ceases  to  alarm  this  animal.     The  action   in  both 


ASSOCIATIVE   LIFE,    ETC.  20$ 

cases  is  an  adjustment  to  sensation,  not  to  judg 
ment.  The  gopher  does  not  seem  to  recognize 
man  as  man,  but  only  to  observe  him  as  a  mov- 
ing animal. 

The  grounds  on  which  we  would  contrast  animal 
life  sharply  with  human  life,  the  one  as  merely 
associative,  the  other  as  rational,  are  many,  but 
centre  about  two  considerations.  There  is  a  radical 
difference  between  associative  development  and 
rational  development.  Association  requires  for  the 
construction  of  its  relations  a  comparatively  narrow 
and  unchangeable  experience.  While  the  bold  re- 
lief given  by  limited,  sharp  senses  and  a  few  absorb- 
ing impulses  is  an  essential  part  of  an  associative 
experience,  its  practically  serviceable  relations  must 
also  be  impressed  on  the  memory  by  frequent  re- 
hearsal. A  rapidly  changing  experience  would  in 
turn  rapidly  efface  each  succeeding  lesson.  Hence 
uniformity  is  added  to  narrowness  as  another  fea- 
ture of  this  form  of  life.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
rational  impulses  are  peculiarly  trammeled  by  fixed 
relations.  Reason  is  constantly  called  on  to  break 
through  first  impressions  and  conventional  habits, 
and  substitute  for  them  fresh,  inherent  dependen- 
cies of  its  own  tracing.  Ratiocination  is  favored  by 
large  and  varying  experience,  and  is  struggling  con- 
stantly to  escape  the  ruts  into  which  human 
thought,  the  moment  it  loses  vigor,  is  sinking.  It 
breaks  up  old  associations,  readily  forms  new  ones, 
and  endeavors  to  make  movement  in  all  directions, 
as  on  a  broad,  smooth  plain,  easy  and  habitual. 
The  more  man  rises  into  full  possession  of  his  own 


206  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS    ASSOCIATIVE. 

powers,  the  more  he  gains  this  freedom ;  the  more 
he  sinks  back  into  animal  life,  the  more  he  loses  it, 
and  feels  the  restored  force  of  habit. 

Animal  life,  through  its  whole  range,  shows 
unmistakably  in  the  character  and  growth  of  its 
knowledge  the  inflexible  features  of  association. 
Each  species  has  its  own  food,  its  own  habits,  its  own 
powers,  and  these  sustain  each  other  in  a  com- 
plete but  narrow  development.  The  knowledge  of 
the  species  grows  out  of  the  experience  incident  to 
its  fixed  method  of  life,  and  rarely  transcends  it. 
We  look  for  nothing  in  the  brute  which  its  own 
circumstances  do  not  directly  call  for,  and  may  not 
have  taught  it.  We  shall  not  be  able  to  trace  the 
formation  of  each  association,  any  more  than  we  can 
anticipate  each  accidental  conjuncture  of  events, 
but  the  association  lies  as  an  easy  possibility  in  the 
surrounding  facts.  We  see  no  traces  of  those  re- 
flective processes  which  gather  their  harvests  in 
all  fields.  That  experiences  so  intense  and  re- 
stricted in  themselves,  yet  so  varied  between  them- 
selves, should  show  many  wonderful  instances  of 
the  happy  conjunctions  called  cunning,  is  a  matter 
of  course.  If  this  craft,  however,  is  to  be  ascribed 
to  reflection,  it  would  be  very  strange  that  reflec- 
tion, which  travels  all  paths  equally  well,  should  in 
each  instance  move  in  a  single  path  so  freely,  and 
yet  never  get  beyond  it.  As  a  rule,  animals  are 
made  more  dull  by  domestication,  civilization.  This 
would  be  a  surprising  result  under  the  supposition 
of  rational  powers,  but  an  inevitable  one  under 
association.      The    experience    of     the    domestic 


DOMESTICATION.  20/ 

animal  is  reduced  in  variety,  and  much  softened  in 
the  intensity  of  its  incentives ;  hence  it  is  less 
intellectual,  especially  with  well-fed,  well-cared-for 
brutes.  Turn  the  horse  out  on  the  common,  and 
his  powers  will  be  refreshed,  and  his  cunning  re- 
vivified. The  dog  which  is  taken  into  close  com- 
munion with  his  master,  and  kept  active  in  the  field 
and  the  wood,  forms  naturally  an  exception  to  this 
rule  ;  as  also  does  the  horse  under  like  condi- 
tions. But  the  surprising  thing  after  all  is  that 
animals  gain  so  little  from  human,  that  is  from 
rational,  intercourse.  Some  domestic  animals,  as 
the  goose  and  the  hen,  are  excessively  dull.  I  have 
known  a  fowl  to  be  removed  each  night  to  its 
appropriate  perch  for  three  months,  and  still  not 
take  the  hint.  The  stupid  way  in  which  a  hen  will 
adhere  to  her  nest  without  eggs,  and  often  after 
violent  dissuasion,  furnishes  an  instance  of  a  wasted 
remnant  of  instinct,  lingering  in  a  perverted  form 
in  the  midst  of  an  associative  life  that  should  have 
abolished  it.  Thus  a  rugged  table-rock  looms  up  on 
a  plain,  the  only  remaining  trace  of  a  complete 
stratum. 

The  instruction  of  brutes  shows  with  equal  de- 
cision the  associative  character  of  their  knowledge. 
The  training  of  an  ox  is  typical  of  all  training,  and 
instruction  in  the  animal  kingdom  is  training.  The 
kind,  uniform  hand  secures  docility,  and  slowly  im- 
presses the  will  of  the  master.  A  few  well-learned 
lessons,  instinctively  wrought  into  the  constitution, 
makes  a  liberal  education.  Says  Hamerton,  and  it 
is  the  experience  of  all  who  have  to  do  with  animals : 


208  ANIMAL    LIFE   AS    ASSOCIATIVE. 

"  The  way  to  educate  a  horse  is  to  do  as  Franklin 
did  in  the  formation  of  his  moral  habits,  that  is,  to 
aim  at  one  perfection  at  once ;  and  afterwards,  when 
that  has  become  easy  from  practice,  and  formed 
itself  into  a  habit,  to  try  for  some  other  perfection."* 
This  is  wisdom  as  applied  to  the  brute,  wisdom  as 
applied  to  action  of  the  nature  of  skill  or  habit  in 
man,  but  folly  as  applied  to  that  intellectual  cor- 
rectness or  moral  integrity  which  demands  to  be  at 
once  pervasive  in  thought  and  in  action. 

The  chief  difficulty  in  training  always  lies  in 
bringing  the  two  things  to  be  associated  up  con- 
tiguously in  the  attention  of  the  animal.  For  this, 
even  in  the  most  skilful  handling,  accident  must  be 
in  part  relied  on,  and  the  astuteness  of  the  trainer 
shows  itself  in  discerning  each  approach  to  the 
happy  coincidence,  and  availing  himself  at  once  of 
it.  If  the  knowledge  to  be  imparted  lies  in  the 
general  direction  of  instinctive  tendencies,  the  work 
is  comparatively  easy,  and  its  results  permanent ; 
but  if  it  lies  to  one  side  of  these,  as  learning  in  a 
pig,  the  labor  is  great  and  the  results  superficial. 
The  knowledge  of  the  brute  is,  in  that  case,  far 
more  in  the  master  than  in  himself. 

The  limits  of  knowledge  in  animals  also  indicate 
its  associative  character.  One  syllogism  clearly 
constructed  may  be  said  to  contain  the  entire  logic  ; 
one  thought  distinctly  entertained  implies  full 
rational  powers  in  normal  activity.  After  that, 
progress  is  only  a  question  of  time  and  opportunity. 

*  Chapters  on  Animals,  p.  82. 


LIMITS    OF    ASSOCIATIVE    KNOWLEDGE.         209 

Associative  knowledge,  on  the  contrary,  ends  ab- 
ruptly. No  one  connection  involves  another,  and 
every  connection  must  arise  in  daily  experience, 
and  be  implanted  by  it.  Training,  when  most  suc- 
cessful, bears  no  comparison  with  education  when 
most  difficult.  Take  the  case  of  the  rational  powers 
of  Laura  Bridgman,  shut  up,  as  in  a  prison,  in  a 
body  deaf,  dumb  and  blind,  the  spirit  inaccessible 
to  the  world  without  it,  and  without  access  to  it. 
Yet,  when  the  obstructing  walls  had  been  under- 
mined, and  a  single  obscure  entrance  to  the  signs 
of  thought  had  been  found  in  touch,  after  a  little 
the  gates  of  knowledge  were  unlocked,  began  to 
stir  on  their  heavy  hinges,  and  anon  swung  slowly 
open.  The  brute  with  the  liveliest  senses  is  la- 
bored over  and  labored  with,  and  in  spite  of  all 
attainments  the  final  impression  is  of  the  impen- 
etrable nature  of  the  barriers  that  cut  him  off  from 
all  true  comprehension. 

Mr.  Spalding,  whose  careful  observation  of  in- 
stincts has  excited  so  much  interest,  draws  atten- 
tion to  the  close  connection  of  associative  knowl- 
edge and  organic  tendency,  and  the  limits  put 
upon  the  one  by  the  other.  "  In  still  further  con- 
firmation of  the  opinion  that  such  wonderful  exam- 
ples " — he  is  speaking  of  the  skill  of  a  young  turkey 
in  catching  a  fly — **  of  dexterity  and  cunning  are 
instinctive  and  not  acquired,  may  be  adduced  the 
significant  fact  that  the  individuals  of  each  species 
have  little  capacity  to  learn  anything  not  found  in 
the  habits  of  their  progenitors.  A  chicken  was 
made,  from  the  first  and  for  several  months,  the 
14. 


210  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS    ASSOCIATIVE. 

sole  companion  of  a  young  turkey.  Yet  it  never 
showed  the  slightest  tendency  to  adopt  the  admi- 
rable art  of  catching  flies  that  it  saw  practiced 
before  its  eyes  every  hour  of  the  day.  The  only 
theory  in  explanation  of  the  phenomena  of  instinct 
that  has  an  air  of  science  about  it,  is  the  doctrine 
of  Inherited  Association.  Instinct  in  the  present 
generation  of  animals  is  the  product  of  the  accumu- 
lated experiences  of  past  generations."*  We  have 
already  commented  on  the  insufficiency  of  this  doc- 
trine of  inherited  association  to  explain  the  primary 
facts  of  instinct,  and  the  very  relation  here  pointed 
out  by  Mr.  Spalding  strengthens  the  criticism.  If 
the  associative  knowledge  lies  in  the  direction  of 
the  instinctive  tendency,  and  adds  itself  to  it,  it  can 
hardly  be  the  germ  of  that  tendency.  The  lichen 
grows  and  decays  on  the  rock ;  the  moss  follows  the 
lichen  ;  the  fern  the  moss  ;  flowers  and  shrubs  the 
ferns.  Do  lichens,  mosses,  ferns  and  shrubs  make 
the  rock  ?  Do  they  not  rather  slowly  disintegrate 
it }  Does  the  moss  make  the  lichen,  or  the  fern 
the  moss,  because  they  work  together  for  a  time  ^ 

The  promptness  also  of  the  action  of  the  brute 
betrays  its  automatic  character.  Reflection  is 
slow,  hesitates  between  several  methods  ;  associa- 
tion is  instant  and  pushes  on  in  one  way.  The 
brute,  in  the  hour  of  danger,  is  unembarrassed  by 
thought,  by  a  half  dozen  suggestions  none  of  which 
promise  success.  His  measures  are  taken  on  the 
spur  of  a  controlling  association,  and  so  have  the 
additional  chances  which  belong  to  decision. 

♦  Nature,  vol.  vi,  p.  486. 


LANGUAGE.  21 1 

The  fact  to  which  attention  has  now  been 
drawn,  that  the  knowledge  of  the  animal  in  its 
kinds,  functions,  limits  and  methods  is  associative, 
not  rational,  is  far  more  significant  in  proof  of  the 
character  of  a  great  phase  of  life  than  are  detached 
instances  of  sagacity,  which,  under  any  view,  must 
necessarily  arise,  are  often  badly  stated  in  form, 
are  obscurely  understood  in  their  instinctive  and 
experiential  surroundings,  and  owe  their  argument- 
ative value  to  the  gloss  of  an  interpretation  re- 
flected on  them  from  human  experience.  We  can 
scarcely  be  mistaken  as  to  these  general  features 
of  intelligence  in  its  two  forms,  we  may  be  most 
easily  mistaken,  nay,  we  can  hardly  escape  mistake, 
as  to  the  precise  way  in  which  any  particular  act 
of  sagacity  has  arisen. 

We  come  now  to  our  second  great  fact  in  this 
discussion,  and  to  the  inferences  involved  in  it,  to 
wit,  that  animals  never  use  language.  In  saying 
this,  we  do  not  mean  that  animals  do  not  many  of 
them  often,  and  some  of  them  constantly,  commu- 
nicate to  each  other  their  present  feelings  as  con- 
crete states.  They  cannot  avoid  doing  this.  To 
feel  fear  is  to  show  it.  They  are  emotional  facts, 
and  as  such  reveal  themselves  to  their  fellows.  We 
mean  to  say  that  language  in  its  proper,  primary 
office,  that  for  which  as  articulate  speech  it  is  alone 
necessary,  the  expression  and  retention  of  abstract 
qualities  and  relations,  is  wholly  unknown  to  ani- 
mals, and  cannot  be  taught  them. 

We  are  to  drop  out  from  language  all  the 
natural  signs  of  emotion,  the  means  by  which  a 


212  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS   ASSOCIATIVE. 

present  feeling  directly  discloses  itself,  actions,  atti- 
tudes, inarticulate  sounds,  and  confine  our  attention 
to  utterances  which  originate  purely  in  a  rational 
process,  and  call  for  it  in  their  interpretation.  It 
is  evident  that  much  which  is  properly  enough 
called  language,  will  not,  under  this  limitation, 
concern  us.  It  is  not  the  signs  by  which  forces 
actually  at  work  express  themselves, — for  in  this 
connection  clouds  are  the  language  of  storms,  mus- 
cular movements  of  vital  forces,  and  changes  in 
the  features  of  the  emotions — that  constitute  the 
distinctive  substance  of  language ;  but  those  ar- 
ticulate sounds  and  written  characters  which,  with 
no  power  in  themselves,  convey  thought,  being  as- 
signed by  the  mind  itself  in  its  use  of  them  that 
office.  The  neighing  of  horses,  the  lowing  of 
herds,  the  barking  of  dogs,  the  clucking  of  hens, 
the  singing  of  birds  are  all  excluded  from  speech, 
since  they  are  the  direct  utterance  of  feeling. 
Cats,  that  crouch  opposite  each  other  in  a  court- 
yard, and  frighten  the  night  with  unearthly  sounds, 
are  not  interlocutors.  When  Hamerton  says  of 
the  dog,  that  he  converses  with  his  master  by 
means  of  his  eyes  and  his  ears  and  his  tail,  nay 
rather  by  every  muscle  of  his  body,  he  is  making 
this  converse  of  precisely  the  same  character  as 
that  which  we  hold  with  every  sensitive  object  in 
nature.  What  we  are  in  search  of  is  a  language 
that  requires  neither  eye  nor  ear  nor  tail  to  utter 
it.  When  an  ox  obeys  a  word  of  command,  there 
is  in  this  obedience  no  more  comprehension  of 
language  than  when  he  is  quickened  by  a  goad. 


TRICKS.   •  213 

While  natural  and  conventional  signs  are  with 
men  constantly  gliding  into  each  other,  there  is 
none  the  less  so  radical  a  division  between  them, 
that  the  latter  imply  quite  different  powers  from 
the  former.  The  clown  and  the  novelist,  the  tune- 
less peasant  and  the  tuneful  poet,  are  distinguished 
from  each  other  by  different  degrees  of  develop- 
ment at  this  very  point,  the  former  have  character 
and  utter  it  in  action,  and  gurgle  it  out  in  mono- 
syllables ;  while  the  latter  clearly  conceive  charac- 
ter, and  so  express  it  in  flowing  speech.  Written 
language  is  a  purer  product  of  the  linguistic  powers 
than  spoken  language. 

Certain  cabalistic  characters  are  on  the  parch- 
ment. Can  the  eye  run  over  them  and  turn  them 
into  conceptions  t  If  so,  that  mind  is  rationally 
endowed,  since  here  is  a  rational  not  an  associative 
link  that  it  renders  ;  if  it  cannot  do  this,  it  is  be- 
cause its  more  clumsy  faculties  cannot  reach  the 
devices  of  mind.  Can  the  dog  read  the  guide- 
board  and  direct  his  steps  accordingly }  The 
tricks  of  spelling,  even  of  translation  from  language 
to  language,  to  which  dogs  have  been  trained,  fur- 
nish one  of  the  most  absolute  proofs  against  their 
rational  powers.  The  labor  of  such  instruction 
and  acquisition  is  incalculably  greater  than  would 
belong  to  the  rational  acquisition  of  such  power  ; 
and  that  this  apparent  knowledge  should  remain 
after  all  a  pains-taking  trick  of  association,  a  play 
of  signs  and  countersigns,  is  the  most  positive 
proof  that  there  is  no  spark  of  rational  compre- 
hension in  the  dog's  mind.     Here   are   the  best 


214  ANIMAL   MFE   AS   ASSOCIATIVE. 

possible  conditions  to  evoke  it  if  it  were  present. 
The  results  of  the  laborious  discipline  are  indeed 
surprising,  yet  they  are  of  the  most  isolated,  bar- 
ren character,  a  mere  surface  gloss  of  associations, 
a  wisdom  that  expires  the  moment  any  one  of  its 
critical  conditions  fails.  This  fact  shows  to  us  most 
plainly  that  the  brilliant  feats  of  natural  cunning 
rest,  like  these  acquired  ones,  on  the  same  low  plane 
of  an  associative  experience. 

There  is  no  occasion  for  language  proper,  and 
no  ability  to  acquire  it,  without  the  power  of  ab- 
straction, itself  an  act  of  judgment.  So  long  as 
the  mind  deals  only  with  concrete  things,  their  im- 
ages and  the  impressions  left  by  them  on  the  mem- 
ory, they  themselves  serve  as  a  sufficient  attach- 
ment to  experience,  and  the  only  attachment  of 
which  it  can  avail  itself.  A  language  of  conven- 
tional signs  is  to  such  an  intelligence  as  steep  and 
inaccessible  as  the  face  of  a  wall  to  a  vine  without 
foot-tendrils.  The  moment,  however,  the  mind 
reaches  an  abstract  relation,  separates  the  place, 
time  and  causal  dependencies  of  things  from  the 
things  themselves,  it  requires  language  to  desig- 
nate, retain  and  impart  these  products  of  thought. 
This  process  of  abstraction  commencing  in  the  hu- 
man mind  calls  at  once  for  language,  and  is  carried 
on  in  and  by  it  in  exhaustless  phases  of  growth. 
Speech  is  the  supreme  instrument  of  abstract 
thought,  and  all  thought  proper  is  abstract.  Even 
the  proper  noun,  though  in  the  outset  it  may  be 
merely  an  associative  symbol,  like  the  name  of  a 
dog,  which  gives  a  common  token  between  the  mas- 


ABSTRACTION    AND    LANGUAGE.  21$ 

ter  and  his  faithful  attendant,  is  tending  constantly 
in  the  human  mind  to  gain  an  abstract  charac- 
ter, and  so  to  become  a  common  noun.  Even 
nouns  which  remain  proper  nouns,  as  Daniel 
Webster,  do  not,  in  the  majority  of  cases,  evoke 
definite,  sensible  images,  coming  out  as  a  person 
in  the  panorama  of  a  dream,  but  stand  for  a  vague 
knowledge  of  history  and  characteristics.  In  this 
they  greatly  differ  from  the  concrete  images  which 
occupy  the  consciousness  of  the  brute.  The  com- 
mon noun,  the  adjective,  the  verb  are  all  abstract ; 
while  adverbs,  prepositions  and  conjunctions  are  so 
wholly  and  flexibly  abstract  as  to  shift  their  mean- 
ings into  the  greatest  variety  of  relations.  The 
moment  we  wish  to  separate  persons  from  a  set  of 
concrete  impressions  which  stand  for  them,  to  deal 
with  persons  or  things  aside  from  their  present  re- 
lation to  our  senses,  we  must  have  language  to 
hold  and  to  convey  our  analysis.  The  present 
must  be  distinguished  from  the  past  and  the  fu- 
ture ;  the  place  we  occupy  from  other  places  ;  and 
effects  in  our  organism  from  those  general  effects 
which  we  ascribe  to  an  object  when  we  are  not 
present.  This  whole  process  is  a  breaking  up  of 
the  concrete,  a  separation  in  the  mind  of  the  float- 
ing facts  of  the  senses  or  of  the  imagination,  trans- 
lating them  into  abstractions  and  reuniting  them 
in  the  supersensual  relations  of  the  reason.  Thus 
one  event  becomes  the  cause,  effect,  condition  of 
another.  Such  a  transfer  from  the  susceptibilities 
to  the  thoughts,  from  the  senses  to  the  intuitions 
and  judgments,  demands,  as  its  indispensable  con- 


2l6  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS   ASSOCIATIVE. 

dition,  language.  If  rational  powers  are  present, 
they  cannot  miss  language  in  their  development ; 
if  they  are  not  present,  language,  the  instrument 
of  the  rational  process,  cannot  be  taken  up,  no 
matter  how  assiduously  it  is  forced  upon  the  atten- 
tion. The  parrot's  speech  will  remain  "parrot- 
like "  to  the  end  of  the  chapter. 

Because  with  us  abstract  processes  are  always 
playing  about  concrete,  real  and  imaginative  expe- 
riences, we  find  it  very  difficult  to  believe  that  it  is 
not  thus  with  the  brute.  This  judgment  is  itself 
an  associative  one.  Every  consideration  is  against 
the  supposition.  The  master  is  absent,  the  dog  suf- 
fers emotionally  from  his  absence  and  follows  his 
foot-steps.  A  series  of  impressions  succeed  one  an- 
other accompanied  with  appropriate  action.  In  the 
absence  of  a  friend,  we  also  feel  a  vague  sense  of 
want,  but  immediately  turn  it  into  a  series  of  re- 
flections and  rational  actions.  We  are  not  driven  on 
as  the  dog  by  a  series  of  images  and  sensuous  im- 
pressions, which  work  their  own  way  into  our 
muscles.  Times,  distances,  duties,  dignity,  all  ab- 
stract considerations,  overshadow  and  control  our 
action. 

The  young  of  animals  adapt  their  motions  to 
spaces  without  recognizing  them  as  spaces,  and  the 
mature  animal  sensationally  distinguishes  between 
things  present  and  absent  without  abstracting  those 
relations  from  the  facts  expressed  under  them.  This 
we  may  do  in  our  idle,  dreamy  moods,  but  cannot 
do  when  our  attention  is  directed  to  the  facts.  The 
reason  and  the  senses  are  coordinate  with  us,  and 


ANIMALS   WITHOUT   LANGUAGE.  21/ 

the  facts  contain,  for  one  set  of  powers,  relations  ; 
as  certainly  as  they  do,  for  the  other  set  of  powers, 
sensible  properties.  No  more  can  we  deal  with  the 
facts  of  the  world  without  language,  giving  points 
of  fixation  and  transition  to  the  rational  process,  as 
do  colors,  flavors  and  sounds  to  the  sensational 
movement.  The  swallow  poises  itself  in  the  wind, 
or  suddenly  falls  off  before  it,  with  a  complete  mas- 
tery of  the  mechanical  problem  ;  the  horse  guides 
his  hind  feet  by  impressions  that  have  already  left 
the  eyes  ;  yet  here  is  organic  construction  acted  on 
directly  by  sensations — not  reflection. 

That  the  animal  does  not  and  cannot  learn  lan- 
guage, no  matter  how  glibly  he  repeats  it,  is  deci- 
sive proof  that  he  fails  of  abstraction,  the  incipient 
act  of  rational  powers.  That  men  always  and 
everywhere  do  create  and  use  language  proves  as 
decisively  the  presence  in  them  of  rational  insight, 
presiding  over  sensations,  and  making  of  them  the 
material  of  thought.  The  most  concrete  speech  of 
man,  no  matter  how  strongly  this  concrete  charac- 
ter in  rude  languages  may  be  insisted  on,  is  full  of 
abstractions,  expressed  or  implied.  Indeed  without 
expressed  or  implied  abstraction,  language  could 
have  little  use,  since  it  would  be  a  needless  repro- 
duction of  sensations.  We  are  to  remember  also 
that  this  absolute  destitution  of  language  proper 
remains  in  the  brute,  notwithstanding  the  most  pro- 
tracted association  with  man,  the  most  patient  ef- 
forts to  teach  it  him,  and  vocal  powers  that  are 
quite  sufficient  for  the  purpose.  The  wonderfully 
trained  dogs  already  referred  to,  whose  performances 


2l8  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS   ASSOCIATIVE. 

are  fully  given  in  Hamerton's  Chapters  on  Ani- 
mals, lost  all  their  knowledge  of  written  language 
on  the  death  of  their  master.  Those  into  whose 
hands  they  then  fell  could  "  get  no  performance  out 
of  them  whatever."  *  This  fact  of  language,  so 
clearly  indicative  in  itself  of  the  faculties  of  ani- 
mals and  of  men,  is  obscured  in  its  force  by  weak- 
ness of  analysis  at  two  points.  We  do  not  distin- 
guish between  language  as  a  natural  expression  of 
a  concrete  state  or  an  associative  symbol  evoking 
such  a  state,  and  a  system  of  signs,  the  instruments 
of  a  pure  thought-process.  We  also  persist  in 
thinking  that  the  same  sense-images  must,  in  all 
minds  that  consciously  receive  them,  have  the  same 
power  to  evoke  thought  that  they  have  with  us. 
Thinking  and  dreaming  are  profoundly  unlike, 
though  human  experience,  taking  in  both  phases, 
more  or  less  modifies  the  one  by  the  other. 

We  will  now  consider  a  very  few  of  the  more 
marked  manifestations  of  associative  life,  applying 
to  them  the  view  here  presented.  It  is  quite  immate- 
rial whether  we  can  or  can  not  give  a  plausible  ex- 
planation of  them  all.  The  most  sagacious  inter- 
pretation is  not  necessarily  a  correct  one,  and  asso- 
ciations whose  origin  is  very  obscure  to  us  may  none 
the  less  be  of  a  very  simple  character.  It  is  not  in 
the  least  surprising  that  the  experience  of  alert  ani- 
mals, full  of  instinctive  tendencies,  should  show 
some  strange  combinations,  a  sagacious  good  for- 
tune often  quite  equal  to  the  average  efforts  of  rea- 

*  P.  253. 


INSTANCES   OF   SAGACITY.  219 

son.  Perfectly  blind  forces,  if  given  repeated  trials, 
will  yield  curious  relations,  much  more  the  lively 
discriminating  senses  of  an  animal.  The  dog,  a 
sharp  observer,  yet  having  but  little  to  observe,  fol- 
lowing its  master  like  his  shadow,  and  putting  it- 
self in  sympathetic  contact  with  him  at  many 
points,  will  sometimes  reflect  his  states  in  a  start- 
ling way,  will  take  into  its  emotional  consciousness 
the  higher  experience  with  a  sudden  disclosure,  like 
that  of  clear  images  in  a  pool  of  water.  The  dog 
may  even  seem  to  catch  from  its  master  moral 
states,  which  are  only  a  sensitive  response  to 
his  censure  or  approval.  It  is  a  very  inadequate 
notion  of  the  associative  life  that  would  lead  one 
to  expect  us  to  be  able  in  each  case  to  trace  these 
lines  of  connection.  We  are  not  near  enough  to 
it.  Nor  can  we  even  follow  with  certainty  the  silent 
links  of  reasoning  which  have  led  this  or  that  man 
to  his  open  conclusions. 

We  are,  also,  to  remember  that  the  stories  which 
record  the  sagacity  of  animals  are  told  with  very 
little  discrimination,  and  much  exaggeration.  They 
are  likely  to  be  deeply  colored  with  human  senti- 
ment and  human  thought,  simply  because  the  nar- 
rator cannot  conceive  the  naked  facts  without  those 
implied  thoughts  and  feelings  as  their  causes.  Very 
few  men  can  separate  the  processes  of  reasoning 
which  seem  to  be  indicated  by  certain  acts  from  the 
acts  themselves,  and  so  give  these  in  an  ungar- 
nished  tale.  Not  only  are  these  facts  very  rarely  re- 
cited by  competent  observers  ;  they  frequently  fail 
to  reach  us  first  hand.  Thus  there  are  many  stories 


220  ANIMAL   LIFE  AS  ASSOCIATIVE. 

of  the  same  general  character  which  are  a  common 
currency,  circulating  everywhere,  and  not  often 
traceable  with  certainty  to  any  specific  case.  The 
records  of  the  sagacity  of  animals,  therefore,  need 
about  the  same  amount  of  sifting  as  the  myths  and 
heroic  traditions  of  a  nation. 

An  orang-outang  is  credited  with  a  sense  of 
humor,  because  in  the  Zoological  Gardens  of  Lon- 
don he  acquired  the  habit  of  exciting  this  feeling 
in  spectators  by  inverting  his  porringer,  like  a  bon- 
net, over  his  head.  This  act,  with  the  grimace 
and  human  caricature  of  the  animal,  provoked 
laughter.  Assuredly  the  orang  was  sensible  of  the 
pleasure  of  his  admirers,  and  would  quickly  learn 
the  method  of  securing  it.  When  Trip  wags  his 
tail  because  he  is  called  a  good  dog,  we  need  not 
infer  that  he  has  taken  his  first  lesson  in  righteous- 
ness ;  nor  need  we  regard  an  orang  as  a  disciple  of 
Rabelais,  because  he  knows  when  people  grin. 

A  power  which,  interpreted  as  rational  discern- 
ment, would  imply  faculties  of  a  high  order  is  the 
sense  of  direction  which  belongs  to  many  animals, 
and  one  which  belongs  to  some  of  the  lower  as  well 
as  to  the  higher  ones.  The  dog,  cat,  horse,  ass,  find 
their  way  to  their  old  haunts  through  territory  ab- 
solutely new  to  them,  or  which  has  been  traveled 
over  but  once  with  little  or  no  opportunity  for  ob- 
servation. This  subject  received  extended  discus- 
sion and  illustration  in  successive  numbers  of  Na- 
ture a  few  years  since.  The  conclusion  was  gath- 
ered up  in  these  words  :  "The  only  out-come  of  this 
discussion  has  been  to  intensify  the  previous  belief 


SENSE   OF   DIRECTION.  221 

in  the  existence  of  some  unexplained  faculty  which 
may  provisionally  be  termed  a  sense  of  direction."  * 
Mr.  Wallace,  in  the  course  of  the  discussion,  urged, 
as  we  think  wisely,  the  view  that  animals  are  greatly 
aided  by  the  sense  of  smell  in  tracing  a  course 
which  they  have  once  passed  over  ;  this  sense  fur- 
nishing a  series  of  impressions  which  can  be  used 
by  the  animal  as  we  use  those  of  sight.  Hamerton 
says  of  himself,  '*  I  distinctly  remember  the  odors 
of  every  house  that  was  familiar  to  me  in  boyhood, 
and  should  recognize  it  at  once."  f  There  can  be 
no  doubt  that  smell  is  a  primary  linear  sense  in  ani- 
mals. 

That  the  nervous  system  through  the  senses  is 
capable  of  receiving  in  some  undefined  way  without 
judgment  an  impression  of  directions  seems  cer- 
tain and  necessary.  Even  in  action  at  small  dis- 
tances this  is  called  for.  The  shark  will  strike  with 
unerring  certainty  an  object  touching  any  part  of 
its  body ;  all  hunting,  as  of  insects  by  birds,  in- 
volves the  most  immediate  and  exact  discrimina- 
tion of  directions.  This  sense  in  a  rudimentary 
form  must  accompany  every  outward  activity,  and 
must  enlarge  and  confirm  itself  as  the  circle  of  ef- 
fort expands.  Even  in  man,  rational  estimates  do 
not  wholly  suspend  this  instinctive  force  of  obscure 
automatic  impressions.  At  short  distances  in  gym- 
nastic exercises  and  games,  this  instinctive,  organic 
precision  is  a  primary  power,  applied  in  a  great  vari- 
ety of  ways,  and  confirmed  by  the  muscular  train- 

*  Vol.  viii.  p.  282.  t  Chapters  on  Animals,  p.  36. 


222  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS   ASSOCIATIVE. 

ing  which  it  none  the  less  guides.  It  also  operates 
in  us  much  more  broadly,  as  in  threading  the  streets 
of  a  city,  or  in  settling  directions  in  a  forest.  Its 
frequently  instinctive  character  is  seen  in  the  fact 
that  one  takes  up,  he  knows  not  how,  a  false  im- 
pression of  directions  in  a  strange  place,  and  no 
reasoning  process,  not  even  the  action  of  the  senses, 
can  correct  it.  It  endures  with  the  most  annoying 
obstinacy.  The  more  just  and  decided  our  ordi- 
nary impressions  of  direction,  the  more  fixed  these 
hallucinations  when  they  have  found  entrance.  The 
sagacity  of  animals  in  finding  their  way  is  to  be 
explained,  we  believe,  by  an  undefined,  automatic 
element,  belonging  to  the  original  harmonizing 
power  of  the  nervous  system,  and  of  which  the  im- 
pression just  referred  to  is  a  remnant  in  man.  Even 
when  we  know  the  conditions  operative  in  giving  a 
false  sense  of  direction,  that  knowledge  does  not 
serve  to  correct  it,  showing  that  it  is  not  a  matter 
of  judgment  merely.* 

*  Nor  is  a  sense  of  direction  hardly  more  strange  than  the  sense 
of  equilibrium  which  accompanies  all  our  waking  movements, 
and  which  leads  us  to  maintain  the  body  in  an  erect  attitude,  or  its 
centre  of  gravity  within  its  base,  by  so  many,  and  so  completely 
automatic  adjustments.  In  the  most  accomplished  equilibrist,  the 
requisite  action  still  preserves  its  spontaneous  character.  Nor  are 
the  sources  of  the  stimuli  which  take  part  in  equilibration  less  re- 
markable. They  are  visceral  impressions,  tactile  impressions,  and 
labyrinthine  impressions,  or  those  of  the  semi-circular  canals  of  the 
ear.  We  have  thus,  as  shown  by  Ferrier,  in  the  apparatus  of  the 
ear  an  unexpected  source  of  the  most  necessary  stimuli  in  our  ordi- 
nary movements.  A  change  of  position  in  any  of  the  three  perpen- 
dicular planes  of  movement  is  at  once  automatically  indicated  to 
the  muscular  system  and  made  operative  through  it.  The  general 
disturbances  of  sea-sickness  undoubtedly  have  something  to  do  with 
a  derangement  of  automatic  stimuli  pertaining  to  position. 


PERCEPTION  OF  ANIMALS.         223 

The  chimpanzee  cracks  nuts  with  a  stone ;  the 
ossifrage  breaks  the  shell  of  the  tortoise  or  splits  a 
bone  by  dropping  it  from  a  great  height.  The 
sagacity  in  these  cases,  like  that  which  leads  a  cat 
to  open  a  door  by  putting  his  paw  upon  the  thumb- 
piece,  may  be  easily  arrived  at  by  one  or  two  fortu- 
nate associations.  The  tortoise,  carried  off  hastily 
in  flight  and  dropped  by  accident,  would  disclose 
the  secret ;  while  inheritance  would  transmit  it. 
That  a  stone,  by  a  lucky  hap,  should  in  one  case  be 
made  an  instrument,  is  less  surprising  than  would 
be  its  confinement  to  a  single  use,  if  that  use  origi- 
nated in  reason.  When  the  donkey  feigns  death  to 
escape  toil,  or  the  fox  to  escape  death,  instead  of  its 
being  the  latest  and  trickiest  device  of  thought,  it 
is  probably  the  earliest  and  stupidest  tendency  of 
instinct,  innate  in  the  bug  in  your  path. 

A  writer  in  Nature,  dwelling  on  the  quick  re- 
sponse which  horses  often  make  to  signs  of  danger 
in  the  forest,  or  on  picket-duty,  or  to  the  notes  of 
war,  in  many  instances  surpassing  their  masters  in 
discernment,  sums  up  the  significancy  of  these 
facts  as  "  simply  this.  Horses  think,  horses  reason, 
horses  classify,  horses  remember."  *  That  horses 
remember,  and  so  classify  automatically  their  expe- 
rience in  associative  judgments,  we  readily  believe, 
and  that  these  processes,  instituted  by  peculiar  and 
alert  senses,  will  surpass  in  results  in  a  narrow 
field  indolent  reasoning,  we  also  believe.  But  this 
very  decision  and  superiority  of  the  result  we  must 

*  Vol.  viii.  p.  78. 


224  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS   ASSOCIATIVE. 

refer  to  its  associative  character,  as  we  do  the  blind 
fright  which  horses  so  often  exhibit,  and  which  the 
least  reason  would  correct.  Jealousy  in  dogs,  re- 
venge in  camels  and  in  elephants,  as  unusually  strong 
impulses,  may  lead  them  to  protracted  watchfulness, 
and  so  suddenly  break  out  in  an  act  of  retaliation 
that  may  have  all  the  appearance  of  a  well-devised 
plot.  Time  plots  for  them,  and  they  come  in  at  the 
instant,  and  therein  is  the  genius  of  anger. 

Kirby  and  Spence  narrate  an  instance  of  sagac- 
ity in  a  wasp,  as  given  by  Mr.  Darwin.  The  wasp 
captured  a  fly  nearly  as  large  as  itself.  It  cut  off 
the  head  and  abdomen,  and  then  flew  away  with  it. 
Finding  itself  still  too  much  impeded,  it  alighted 
and  sawed  off  the  wings.  "  Could  any  process  of 
ratiocination  be  more  perfect.?"*  the  authors  in- 
quire. They  then  proceed  to  instance  a  like  fitting 
of  cockroaches  to  the  size  of  the  hole  into  which 
the  wasps  wished  to  drag  them.  We  are  to  bear  in 
mind  in  these  cases  that  the  animals  are  working 
in  the  most  direct  line  of  their  instincts,  their  con- 
stitutional, constructive  skill.  We  must  have  one 
theory,  not  two.  The  wasp,  the  bee,  the  ant,  the 
beetle,  have  constant  occasion  for  measurements, 
definite  sizes  and  shapes.  Are  these  reached  auto- 
matically or  rationally  }  If  we  say  the  common  re- 
sults of  their  activity,  involving  size  and  position  in 
so  man)'^  particulars,  are  to  be  referred  to  a  consti- 
tutional, constructive  power,  slightly  modified  by 
associations,  then  we  have  no  occasion  to  take  a 

*  Entomology,  p.  562. 


SAGACITY.  225 

particular  instance,  make  it  striking  by  isolation, 
and  refer  it  to  reason.  Such  a  method  lacks  all 
homogeneity.  If  these  insects  can  do  their  ordinary 
work  without  weights  and  measures,  they  can  do 
this  as  well* 

We  cite  one  more  case  of  sagacity  given  by  a 
writer  in  Nature.  A  horse  is  eating  from  a  nose- 
bag. A  pouter-pigeon  flies  directly  at  his  eyes  and 
flaps  his  wings  furiously.  The  horse  jerks  his  head, 
flirts  his  oats,  and  the  pigeon  eats  them.  The  writer 
closes,  "  I  leave  it  to  your  readers  to  consider  the 
train  of  thought  that  must  have  passed  through  the 
pigeon's  brain  before  it  adopted  the  clever  method 
above  narrated  of  stealing  the  horse's  provender."! 
Nothing  could  be  simpler  than  the  explanation,  of 
this  device  of  the  pigeon.  The  horse  from  any 
cause  jerks  his  head  and  a  few  oats  are  dropped. 
The  pigeon  eats  them,  flies  up  and  occasions  a  sec- 
ond flirt.  The  association  is  immediately  estab- 
lished and  remains  what  it  was  at  the  outset,  save 
that  the  pigeon  becomes  more  bold  and  violent  in 
its  effort,  having  learned  its  success.  The  thought 
is  precisely  that,  and  no  more,  which  leads  a  hen  to 
hop  on  to  a  bar,  and  open  its  feed-trough  by  its  own 
weight. 

*  That  the  action  of  this  wasp  is  purely  instinctive  is  seen  by  the 
following  fact : 

After  bringing  the  caterpillar  to  her  nest,  the  wasp  always  leaves 
it  before  the  entrance  and  goes  in  to  see  if  everything  is  in  order 
within  the  cavity. 

"  During  this  absence  of  the  wasp,  Fabre  removed  her  booty  to 

some  distance,  forty  times  in  succession.     Forty  times   the  wasp 

brought  it  back,  but  each  time  examined  her  nest  afresh  before  she 

attempted  to  put  her  prey  into  it." — Brehrn's  Thierleben^  vol.  ix.p.280. 

t  Vol.  viii,  p.  324. 

I? 


226  ANIMAL   LIFE   AS    ASSOCIATIVE. 

Before  this  question  can -.be  settled,  whether  the 
mental  action  of  brutes  is  rational  or  associative,  we 
must  distinguish  much  more  clearly  between  the  two 
than  is  generally  done,  and  direct  our  inquiries  and 
experiments  with  corresponding  care.  Most  of  the 
facts  that  are  brought  forward  to  prove  a  rational 
process  may  be  freely  admitted  without  in  the  least 
affecting  the  question.  We  confess  a  certain  relief 
and  pleasure  in  contemplating  these  vast  stretches 
of  consciousness  in  the  animal  kingdom  with  a  law 
of  activity  distinctly  lower  than  our  own.  This  twi- 
light region  of  mind  bears  with  it  none  of  the  awe, 
solemnity  and  fearfulness  of  insight.  Its  dangers 
are  narrow,  its  responsibilities  are  nothing,  its  pains 
are  in  an  undertone  and  transient,  its  pleasures  are 
clear  and  simple.  No  alarms  from  a  far-off  future, 
no  cruel  ambitions,  no  sombre  duties  darken  the 
passing  hour,  nor  scatter  and  waste  the  joys  which 
a  life  just  conscious  of  itself  is  gathering.  If  our 
dumb  cousins,  seedlings  at  the  foot  of  the  tree,  re- 
ceive less  light,  they  also  suffer  fewer  fears  and 
feel  gentler  winds.  We  could  wish  for  them  either 
no  more  knowledge  than  we  think  them  to  have,  or 
far  more  than  they  are  thought  to  have. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

RATIONAL    LIFE. 

We  have  now  reached  the  highest  grade  of  in- 
telligence, that  of  rational  life.  It  is  not  difficult 
to  indicate  its  points  of  preeminence  as  contrasted 
with  what  lies  below  it  ;  but  it  is  difficult  to  con- 
ceive in  their  integrity  the  narrow  horizons  of  in- 
stinct and  association,  accustomed  as  we  are  to  the 
broader  vision  of  reason.  Forms  which  are  dis- 
tinctly rendered  by  day-light,  colors  that  are  sharply 
distinguished  at  noon-tide,  fade  away  and  melt  into 
one  vague  impression,  one  unanalyzed  fact,  as  night 
comes  on.  The  circle  of  the  senses  closes  in 
around  the  traveler,  and  the  bearings  of  objects  on 
immediate  safety  and  comfort  occupy  his  entire  at- 
tention. So  animal,  as  contrasted  with  rational 
life,  is  crowded  into  a  narrow  experience,  and  busies 
itself  with  things  in  immediate  contact  with  its 
senses. 

The  crowning  distinction  of  rational  life  is  that  it 
is  one  of  relations  and  not  of  things,  of  intellectual 
constructions  and  not  of  sensible  data,  one  whose  im- 
pulse is  found  in  intuitions  rather  than  in  sensa- 

227 


228  RATIONAL   LIFE. 

tions.  This  truth  is  somewhat  hidden  from  us  by 
the  fact  that  these  relations,  in  themselves  supersen- 
sible, yet  lie  between  sensible  things,  that  percep- 
tions and  sensations  give  the  points  of  crystalliza- 
tion, the  positions  between  which  run  the  insensible 
lines  of  thought.  Yet  it  cannot  be  regarded  as  a  very 
difficult  piece  of  analysis  to  separate  things  as 
objects  of  sensations  from  those  relations  between 
things  which  the  ingenious,  rational  mind  is  con- 
stantly disclosing  to  itself,  Take  an  extended, 
complicated  and  beautiful  building.  The  most  un- 
illuminated  eye  can  discern  its  substance  :  the  eye 
of  an  architect,  sustained  in  its  research  by  the 
observation  and  skill  of  a  lifetime,  is  needed  in 
order  to  see  its  proportions,  adaptations,  relations 
of  material,  constructive  and  aesthetic  features. 
Now  these  relations  in  which  the  edifice  is  ren- 
dered by  the  architect,  and  to  which  it  owes  its 
interest,  are  not  directly  visible,  but  only  indi- 
rectly, by  an  accompanying  rational  process.  The 
clown  can  see  the  page  of  Homer,  he  cannot  trans- 
late it ;  he  can  see  the  walls  of  the  building,  he  can- 
not discern  the  thought  that  has  gone  into  its 
erection. 

The  analysis,  then,  is  the  separation  of  relations 
from  the  sensible  qualities,  one  and  all,  of  the 
things  between  which  they  lie.  Thus  the  material 
of  thought  is  secured,  while  its  simply  phenomenal 
conditions  are  left  behind. 

All  these  relations  are  given  intuitively,  that  is, 
by  an  insight  of  the  mind  which  transcends  that  of 
the  eye  or  the  ear  or  the  tip  of  the  fingers.     They 


DISCERNMENT   OF    RELATIONS.  229 

can  only  thus  be  given,  since  they  are  not  sensible 
qualities  in  any  the  most  subtile  form.  To  these 
relations  alone  all  logical  processes  pertain.  Things 
simply  as  sensible  facts  cannot  be  argued  about, 
cannot  appear  in  premises,  or  re-appear  in  con- 
clusions, cannot  be  made  the  material  of  propo- 
sitions. Phenomenal  qualities  as  phenomenal  are 
declared  to  the  mind  through  its  sense-organs,  abide 
in  those  organs,  and  cannot,  for  a  moment,  be 
gotten  out  of  them.  It  is  only  when  we  add  to 
sensations  such  notions  as  identity,  equality,  same- 
ness, difference,  that  logical  processes,  thought- 
processes,  find  attachment. 

This,  then,  is  the  thing  to  be  shown,  that  rela- 
tions, the  discernment  of  which  is  the  function  of 
reason,  and  the  discussion  of  which  is  the  function 
of  the  understanding,  constitute  the  primary  ma- 
terial of  human  intelligence  as  contrasted  with 
animal  intelligence,  of  rational  life  as  compared 
with  associative  life.  The  chief  difficulty  in  this 
effort  arises  from  the  fact  that  associative  life  is 
in  us  united  with  rational  life,  and  the  two  proc- 
esses so  blend  with  and  sustain  each  other,  that 
we  cannot  easily  separate  them  in  our  conceptions. 
As  the  man  more  and  more  forgets  the  experiences 
of  the  child,  so  have  we  more  and  more  left  behind 
us  those  of  the  brute. 

Let  us  in  this  effort  at  analysis  and  contrast 
take  first  the  relation  of  space.  We  are  not  to  dis- 
cuss the  origin  of  the  notion ;  we  are  simply  to 
deal  with  its  relations  as  supersensible,  that  is,  as 
not  directly  seen,   felt,   heard.      We  do   not   see 


230  RATIONAL   LIFE. 

lengths  or  feel  breadths,  any  more  than  we  hear 
distance.  The  relations  of  length  and  breadth 
are  ideas  which  may  or  may  not  be  present  in  con- 
nection with  certain  sensations.  Yet  when  they 
are  clearly,  consciously  present,  they  are  so  in,  by 
and  for,  the  mind. 

Take  the  animal :  what  are  its  mental  relations 
to  space }  They  are  those  submerged,  automatic 
ones  which  belong  to  sensations,  operating  as  phys- 
ical stimuU,  Take  the  perceptions  of  the  eye : 
there  are  involved  in  them  differences  which  are 
due  to  the  relations  of  space,  due  to  things  as  near 
by  or  far  off,  as  in  one  position  or  in  another. 
These  sensible  differences,  as  in  themselves  modifi- 
cations of  stimuli,  may  operate  directly  on  the  ner- 
vous organization,  and  so  secure  a  coordination  of 
action  in  reference  to  them  ;  or  they  may  be  used 
by  the  mind  as  language,  converted  in  clear  thought 
into  relations,  and  then  be  made  the  conditions  of 
voluntary  adaptations.  The  first  result  is  reached 
by  merely  organic,  instinctive  life,  the  second  by 
rational  life  only.  It  ought  not  to  be  difficult  for 
us  to  believe  that  these  slight  differences  of  organic 
stimuli  due  to  distances  can  be  made  directly,  or- 
ganically operative  on  accompanying  action,  for 
this  is  precisely  what  takes  place  in  us  in  the  great 
majority  of  cases.  The  only  difference  between 
the  man  and  the  animal  in  walking  is,  that  the  man 
automatically  adapts  his  movements  to  space, 
having  previously  impressed  its  relations  on  the 
mind  and  eye  by  voluntary  and  conscious  effort, 
while  the  animal  yields  to  like  impressions  as  the 


AUTOMATIC    ACTION    AND    THOUGHT.  23 1 

data  of  a  simple,  primitive,  organic  dependence. 
The  difference  between  the  two  lies  in  the  origin 
of  the  coordination,  not  in  its  nature.  The 
higher  voluntary  powers  in  man  have  assumed  par- 
tial control  over  functions  which  remain  purely 
organic  in  the  brute.  There  is  no  more  mystery 
in  the  animal's  fitting  his  action  to  spaces  without 
distinctly  considering  them  than  there  is  in  man's 
doing  the  same  thing.  The  apparently  voluntary 
movements  of  the  animal  are  as  automatically  co- 
ordinated to  spaces  as  are  its  stages  of  digestion 
to  the  length  of  the  intestinal  canal.  The  signs, 
then,  of  space  relations  may  be  directly  operative 
as  simple,  sensible  facts,  or  they  may  be  translated 
into  thought,  and  so  become  indirectly  efficient 
through  the  medium  of  consciousness.  The  first 
is  the  method  of  automatic  life,  the  second  of 
rational  life.  Thinking  is  a  detached,  self-sustain- 
ing process,  which  is  operative  on  organic  connec- 
tions through  will.  Mere  vision  no  more  involves 
necessarily  the  interpretation  of  the  signs  of  vision 
than  it  involves  a  knowledge  of  the  Greek  alphabet. 
The  very  subtile  way  in  which  an  organic  process 
will  go  on  under  the  most  obscure  stimuli,  and  that, 
too,  when  liable  to  interference  from  the  will,  is 
seen  in  our  management  of  our  tongues  in  eating. 
This  organ  is  very  active  in  the  movement  of  the 
food,  and  may  be  called  on  to  shape  the  sounds  of 
speech  in  the  midst  of  the  process,  yet  it  easily  es- 
capes the  cutting  and  grinding  of  the  jaws.  When 
one,  however,  has  actually  bitten  his  tongue,  and  so 
had  his  attention  directed  to  it,  its  government  be- 


232  RATIONAL    LIFE. 

comes  more  difficult.  The  voluntary  impulses 
break  in  on  the  involuntary  ones  without  being  able 
to  take  their  place,  and  a  second  injury  follows  the 
first.  The  tongue  is  suddenly  found  clumsy  and 
quite  in  the  way. 

The  experience  of  animals,  however,  is  greatly 
narrowed  by  this  their  relation  to  space.  None  of 
its  relations  affect  them  except  as  they  are  directly 
presented  in  modifications  of  sensations,  or  of 
images  the  counterparts  of  sensations.  The  absent 
dog  misses  his  home,  but  does  not  conceive  it  to 
be  in  such  a  place,  with  such  and  such  distances. 
He  may  none  the  less  be  correctly  brought  under  a 
series  of  sensations  and  associations,  and  so  be  re- 
stored to  it ;  but  the  process  is  momentarily  con- 
structive under  the  senses  as  it  proceeds,  and  is  not 
constructed  under  clear,  mental  relations  before  it 
commences.  Thus  an  animal  may  retrace  its  own 
steps,  no  matter  how  long  the  journey,  with  no  antic- 
ipation of  its  weariness.  Men  even,  if  the  construc- 
tive imagination  is  feeble  and  the  estimate  of  dis- 
tances vague,  retravel  a  road  and  recall  its  impres- 
sions only  as  they  actually  behold  them.  The  space, 
then,  in  which  animals  live  is  shut  down  to  that  of 
the  senses,  with  such  trifling  enlargements  as  visions 
deeply  impressed  on  the  memory  may  give  ;  while 
the  impulses  to  movement  are  derived  directly 
from  sensations  or  from  associations.  In  man  this 
automatic  life  is  broken  up  b}^  the  rational  pro- 
cesses, and,  by  the  abstract  relations  of  space,  he  is 
put  in  possession  for  purposes  of  thought  and  often 
of  action  of  large  areas  of  his  own  country,  of  other 


RELATION    OF    SPACE.  233 

countries,  of  the  world,  of  the  Universe.  He  thus 
enspheres  himself  in  the  whole  creation,  and  puts 
it  in  service  and  order  in  the  ministrations  of  mind. 
A  second  relation,  with  less  conspicuous  sensi- 
ble traces  than  that  of  space,  is  that  of  time.  The 
time  of  animals  is  emphatically  the  present:  So 
far  as  they  attach  any  action  to  particular  times, 
they  seem  to  do  it  by  returning  appetites  or  wants, 
by  those  sensible  impressions  which  belong  to  the 
waning  day  and  year,  and  which  can  be  made  the 
grounds  of  association  and  of  instinct.  When  a 
squirrel  prepares  in  Summer  the  food  of  Winter,  we 
attribute  the  action  chiefly  to  instinct ;  and  doubt- 
less correctly,  since  an  instinct  of  this  nature  runs 
deep  down  into  the  animal  kingdom.  The  insect 
deposits  its  eggs  under  conditions  which  will  fur- 
nish food  for  the  larvae,  though  she  can  have  no 
knowledge  of  them.  The  dog  will  bury  a  bone  al- 
ready gnawed,  or  food  to  which  he  has  no  occa- 
sion to  return.  Instinctive  and  organic  action  is 
the  method  by  which  animal  life  is  usually  led  to 
provide  for  wants  so  remote  as  to  make  no  imme- 
diate impression  on  the  sensibiHties.  When  a 
class  of  sensations  attend  on  a  particular  period, 
these  may  become  the  basis  of  associative  judg- 
ments, acting  independently,  or  mingling  with  in- 
stincts. Thus  cattle  may  return  to  their  yard  at 
the  close  of  day,  or  birds  seek  a  warmer  climate  as 
the  Winter  approaches.  Thus,  the  present,  in  one 
way  or  another,  is  always  the  fulcrum  on  which 
rests  the  lever  by  which  the  future  reaches  and  af- 
fects animal  life. 


234  RATIONAL   LIFE. 

How  completely  in  man  is  all  this  altered.  Time, 
as  an  abstract  relation,  is  constantly  present  to  his 
thoughts,  and  the  larger  share  of  his  actions  as- 
sume their  form  from  a  clear  recognition  of  its 
divisions,  natural  and  artificial.  The  future  is  al- 
ways with  him  controlling  the  present,  and  often  a 
very  remote  future.  Indeed,  by  no  one  fact  is  the 
intellectual  progress  of  man  from  the  animal  to  the 
rational  plane  of  life  more  clearly  indicated  than  by 
the  length  of  the  periods  he  takes  into  considera- 
tion in  his  daily  conduct.  It  is  difficult  to  induce 
the  savage  to  put  forth  exertions  which  provide  for 
wants  beyond  those  of  the  hour,  while  the  civilized 
man  is  only  too  much  disposed  to  forecast  the 
wants  of  remote  years,  and  weigh  down  the  present 
with  the  work  of  providing  for  them.  The  periods 
that  science  occupies  itself  with,  backward  and  for- 
ward, are  practically  infinite,  and  its  steps  no  more 
weary  traversing  the  stretches  of  time  than  in  travel- 
ing the  boundless  areas  of  space.  Philanthropy 
and  religion  are  habitually  casting  their  entire  hopes 
of  labor  on  the  future. 

The  notion,  or  mental  incentive,  under  which 
these  labors  of  mind  and  heart  are  chiefly  under- 
taken is  still  more  remarkable  for  its  supersensible 
character.  Space  and  time  have  a  sensible  lan- 
guage, not  directly,  but  indirectly  ;  but  causes,  the 
idea  of  control,  are  inserted  everywhere  by  the  posi- 
tive vigor  of  the  reason.  What  could  be  more  com- 
pletely supersensible  than  this  notion  of  forces,  of 
causes,  which  the  mind  brings  forward  as  the  neces- 
sary sub-structure  of  all  things  and  events,  all  the 


RELATION  OF  CAUSATION.         235 

efforts  of  life.  This  is  the  first  thoroughly  produc- 
tive movement  of  mind.  The  distances  of  space 
the  periods  of  time,  are  suggestive  under  it,  since 
the  sensible  changes  through  which  they  arise  in 
the  senses  would  have  no  significance,  were  it  not 
for  causation,  did  not  a  change  of  position  involve 
a  change  of  appearances.  The  mind  cannot  move 
at  all  among  things  without  expressly  or  impliedly 
availing  itself  of  this  idea,  since  no  relation  among 
things  can  possibly  declare  itself  to  us  otherwise 
than  by  this  assumption  of  causation. 

The  mind  inserts  no  such  notion  between  im- 
ages, establishes  no  such  relations  between  its  own 
conceptions,  but  it  no  sooner  has  to  do  with  actual, 
physical  phenomena  than  it  obstinately  insists  on 
this  supersensible  term,  and  can  do  nothing  with- 
out it.  No  illustration  could  be  more  complete  of 
the  constructive  power  of  thought  as  dependent  on 
the  introduction  of  its  own  insight  into  relations. 
Thus,  this  last  and  most  comprehensive  explanation 
of  things  turns  on  a  conception  which  has  no  direct 
hold  on  the  senses,  and  one  which  we  have  no  rea- 
son to  believe  ever  enters  the  consciousness  of  a 
brute.  The  simple  associations  of  memory,  turn- 
ing on  the  conjunctions  of  time,  order  the  con- 
scious life  of  the  animal  in  its  sequences.  The 
philosophy  that  would  reduce  human  thought  to  a 
like  succession  destroys  itself,  as  a  series  of  this 
nature  can  have  no  power  of  proof  any  more  than 
the  idle  conjunction  of  things.  When  connections 
are  null,  their  proof  is  nothing,  for  proof  is  a  con- 
nection. 


236  RATIONAL   LIFE. 

When  we  pass  to  moral  and  religious  facts,  the 
ideas  which  control  belief  and  action  are,  if  possi- 
ble, still  more  supersensible.  In  morals  the  law  is 
that  of  right,  the  power  of  obedience  that  of  lib- 
erty, and  on  these  two  transcendent  notions  con- 
duct and  character  are  conditioned.  The  truths  of 
religion,  though  scarcely  more  removed  from  sense- 
perceptions,  are  still  wider  in  their  range,  still  far- 
ther beyond  the  verifications  of  experience.  None 
of  the  conclusions  of  morals  or  of  religion  can  be 
verified  off  from  their  own  bases.  It  is  by  an  inner 
and  not  by  an  outer  experience,  that  they  justify 
themselves  to  an  intellectual  constitution,  that 
includes  them  not  among  its  sensations,  but  in  its 
full  intuitional  and  emotional  forms.  Music  can 
not  commend  itself  to  the  eye,  nor  can  a  spiritual 
fact  to  an  unspiritual  temper.  We  have  thus  in 
every  rational  activity  of  man  invisible  relations 
which  furnish  its  law,  and  as  these  activities  be- 
come more  and  more  distinctively  spiritual  the  re- 
moteness and  intangibility  of  these  relations  in- 
crease, till  at  length  the  human  soul  finds  itself 
standing  face  to  face  with  the  Infinite,  and  shaping 
its  life  for  immortality  under  the  invisible  motives 
of  the  spiritual  world. 

We  are  also  to  observe  that  the  force  of  this 
distinction  between  the  brute  mind  and  the  rational 
mind  is  not  destroyed  by  denying  the  reference 
of  such  ideas  as  space,  time,  causation,  liberty,  to 
intuitive  powers.  These  notions,  if  they  are  not 
granted  as  intuitions,  must,  at  least  a  part  of  them, 
be  accepted  as  generalizations,  and  thus  there  is 


RELATIONS    TO    RATIONAL   LIFE.  23/ 

brought  out  in  another  form  the  preeminence  of  the 
powers  of  the  mind  in  abstraction,  as  opposed  to 
associative  action  in  the  senses,  the  very  point 
that  we  are  emphasizing  as  the  distinctive  feature 
between  the  two  intellectual  phases.  The  empiri- 
cal philosophy,  much  straitened  by  its  method,  is 
compelled  to  discard  some  of  these  ideas,  but  their 
very  presence  as  unverified,  illusory  impressions 
is  something  remarkable,  and  is  itself  a  striking 
difference  between  animal  and  rational  life.  We 
have  no  hint  that  any  such  far-ofE  spiritual  vis- 
itants as  these  visions  of  the  Infinite  and  immor- 
tality ever  make  their  way  into  brute  consciousness, 
or  disturb  with  a  strange,  spiritual  power  its  slug- 
gish movements. 

This  supremacy  in  the  mind  of  man  of  super- 
sensible relations,  involving,  at  every  step  of  their 
construction  or  use,  abstraction,  is  farther  brought 
out  by  language,  the  special  instrument  or  organ 
of  a  rational  process.  We  do  not  believe  that  this 
endless  separation  of  relations  from  the  sensible 
objects  between  which  they  lie,  this  gliding  from 
point  to  point  in  thought  by  invisible  threads  of 
dependence,  can  be  so  much  as  entered  on  without 
that  grasp  by  the  mind  of  primitive  connections  re- 
garded by  us  as  intuitive  ;  but  waiving  this,  and  al- 
lowing a  process  of  abstraction  to  be  the  source  of 
these  ideas,  it  is  yet  plain  that  abstraction,  and  it 
only,  constitutes  the  peculiar  controlling  necessity 
for  language,  a  necessity  which  only  the  human 
mind  experiences. .  That  that  mind  is  practically 
dependent  on  language  for  its  development  is  uni- 


238  RATIONAL   LIFE. 

versally  admitted.  Without  it  it  sinks  into  some- 
thing more  alUed  to  idiocy  than  to  animahsm  —  it 
aborts. 

In  speaking  of  this  relation  of  language  to  ra- 
tional powers,  we  shall  do  better  to  take  language  in 
its  later  than  in  its  earlier  stages  ;  because  its  true 
constructive  power  is  more  declared,  though  it  is 
certainly  not  hidden  in  any  stage  of  development.  A 
language  relatively  complete  is  the  product  toward 
which  the  mind  is  pressing  under  its  latent  powers 
from  the  very  outset.  What  language  ultimately 
accomplishes  for  thought,  that  it  was  as  an  incipi- 
ent tendency  which  led  the  mind  to  lay  hold  of 
and  develop  it.  We  cannot  see  the  plant  in  the 
bud,  yet  it  is  there  as  an  unfolding  law.  Nor  does 
this  fact  interfere  with  another  fact  which  is  often 
so  presented  as  to  obscure  it.  Language  in  its  ori- 
gin may  have  in  it  a  very  large  associative  element, 
may  be  in  part,  like  the  cries  of  an  animal,  the  di- 
rect expression  of  a  concrete  state,  but  this  element 
is  at  most  the  nutriment  of  the  germ,  not  the  germ 
itself  ;  that  germ  is  the  process  of  abstraction  re- 
quiring an  abstract  instrument  for  its  development. 

Take  any  cultivated  speech,  like  the  English. 
Consider  its  participles,  its  conjunctions,  preposi- 
tions, adverbs.  How  inconceivably  numerous  and 
subtile  are  the  relations  they  indicate.  The  whole 
constructive  force  of  our  language  is  in  them,  save 
that  which  is  found  in  the  similar  abstractions  of  in- 
flexion, position  and  implication.  The  sentence  would 
fall  to  pieces  as  so  many  words  were  it  not  for  these 
asserted  and  implied  relations.     Ruder  languages 


LANGUAGE.  239 

may  indicate  these  relations  in  modified  ways,  or 
less  completely  ;  yet,  if  they  are  capable  of  rational 
use,  if  they  are  language  proper,  these  connections 
are  in  some  way  and  to  some  degree  in  them  ;  other- 
wise, there  is  no  transfer  of  thought.  This  inter- 
dependence of  words  is  the  supreme  feature  of 
language ;  its  method  is  that  which  preeminently 
distinguishes  one  language  from  another,  and  that 
inter-dependence  is  made  up  of  the  most  subtile 
possible  abstractions,  in  some  sense  more  subtile 
when  merely  suggested  than  when  asserted.  Take 
the  preposition  /;/,  multiply  as  you  will  the  instances 
of  its  use,  and  there  will  be  found  strikingly  diverse 
colors  in  some  of  them,  and  obscure  shades  of  dif- 
ference in  most  of  them.  In  the  box,  in  the  place, 
in  the  fire,  in  the  mind,  in  the  time,  in  society,  in 
virtue  of,  in  relation  to,  in  connection  with,  in  in- 
tention, in  activity,  in  rest ;  in  these  and  a  hundred 
like  examples,  we  see  that  the  first  relation  was  one 
of  space,  variable  in  its  very  germ,  and  thence 
traveling  with  the  most  flexible  suggestiveness  into 
every  region  of  thought.  Obscure  and  abstract  as 
these  transitions  are,  the  mind  finds  no  difficulty  in 
traversing  them,  because  it  is  even  more  subtile 
than  are  they.  Thought  can  scarcely  move  so 
quickly  from  the  physical  to  the  spiritual,  from  one 
relation  to  another,  as  to  elude  or  even  tax  the  mind 
in  its  pursuit.  The  same  free  movement  belongs 
to  all  these  particles  of  speech,  blown  about  like  the 
spores  of  intellectual  life,  in  their  passage  from 
meaning  to  meaning.  Verbs  and  adjectives  are 
only  a  little  less  noteworthy.     Verbs  and  adjectives 


240  RATIONAL   LIFE. 

are  systematically  abstractions.  The  action  or  the 
quality  is  separated  from  the  thing  to  which  it  per- 
tains, and  from  the  other  actions  and  qualities  with 
which  it  is  associated.  Verbs  and  adjectives  are 
not  direct,  concrete  products  of  sensations,  but 
these  products  in  every  stage  of  decomposition  and 
reconstruction,  of  analysis  and  synthesis,  of  dis- 
solving sense-connections  and  newly  appearing 
mental  ones.  Neither  do  nouns,  the  roots  of 
language,  long  remain  the  signs  of  specific 
things,  but  become  common  nouns,  abstract  nouns, 
adjectives  and  verbs.  Taking  to  themselves  some 
quality  or  relation,  the  product  of  analysis,  they  are 
led  off  by  it  into  some  specific  duty.  Not  even  the 
proper  noun  can  get  much  use  in  language  save  as 
we  wish  to  make  it  the  centre  of  abstract  concep- 
tions, to  speak  of  the  person  in  reference  to  space, 
time  and  causation. 

An  intelligence  that  has  to  do  with  things 
through  the  senses  simply  finds  no  occasion  for 
speech.  So  long  as  objects  are  present,  they  are 
the  centres  and  sources  of  emotions  ;  and  when  they 
are  absent,  they  drop  from  consciousness,  or  return 
to  it  only  as  a  vision,  operative  on  action  like  any 
other  sensible  fact.  There  can  be  no  desire  to 
speak  about  things,  till  the  mind  takes  them  up  in 
abstract  relations  that  require  to  be  marked  and 
transferred  by  designations.  A  brute  certainly 
communicates  its  feelings,  but  these  find  expres- 
sion as  present  facts  or  forces  through  natural  ef- 
fects, and  are  no  more  language  than  the  babbling 
of   brooks  or  the  murmur  of  pines.     Not  an  ex- 


LANGUAGE.  24 1 

ample  can  be  given  with  any  certainty  under  care- 
ful analysis  of  the  transfer  in  language  of  an 
abstract  idea  from  animal  to  animal.  Natural  signs 
cannot  be  language  and  remain  natural  signs,  since 
that  which  makes  them  to  be  natural  signs  shows 
them  to  be  the  immediate  products  of  organic  forces, 
and  not,  therefore,  the  expression  of  a  purely  men- 
tal fact.  Language,  as  the  conventional  expression 
of  abstract  relations,  can  arise  only  as  the  accom- 
paniment of  rational  powers.  Nor,  if  the  theory 
of  language  be  true  that  its  roots  are  onomatopoetic 
signs,  would  its  relation  to  our  rational  powers  be  in 
the  least  altered.  The  architect  may  use  the  stones 
in  the  street  to  erect  his  building.  Language  begins 
at  once  to  depart  from  this  basis,  and  is  language 
by  virtue  of  its  departure.  Doubtless  the  speech 
of  savages  has  a  relatively  larger  concrete  element 
than  that  of  cultivated  nations,  but  if  we  add  to 
words  the  relations  involved  in  their  exposition  by 
the  mind,  if  we  restore  to  sounds  their  submerged 
as  well  as  their  visible  supports  in  language,  there 
is  no  human  tongue  that  is  not  permeated  with  ab- 
stractions. Indeed,  if  it  were  not,  it  could  be  of  no 
practical  use  beyond  the  cries  of  animals.  Things 
that  are  present  to  the  senses  need  not,  any  more 
than  money  before  us,  call  for  counters  in  reckoning. 
It  is  only  as  we  wish  to  put  things  in  a  mental 
relation  of  some  sort,  that  we  have  occasion  to  in- 
dicate them,  and  to  retain  our  constructive  points, 
as  the  architect  traces  his  plan  in  the  sand. 

The  mingling  of  natural  signs,  the  immediate 
product  of  organic  life,  with  the  abstract  signs  of 

16 


242  RATIONAL  LIFE. 

mental  conceptions,  and  the  constant  passage  of 
the  former  into  the  latter,  serve  to  confuse  the 
mind  in  searching  for  the  true  office  and  relations 
of  language.  It  is  the  second,  the  abstract,  ele- 
ment only  that  has  any  especial  significance  in 
speech.  The  rational  mind  cannot  miss  these 
visible  footholds  supplied  by  language  to  its  invis- 
ible footsteps,  and  meet  with  any  large  develop- 
ment. Nor  can  the  rational  powers  when  set  in 
action  fail  to  push  language  through  all  its  stages 
of  development,  till,  in  its  thousands  of  relations, 
ten  thousands  of  words,  and  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  meanings,  it  becomes  the  counterpart  of  the 
manifold  ways  in  which  mind  separates  and  recom- 
bines  things. 

Nor  does  it  in  the  least  alter  the  true  intellec- 
tual character  of  the  movement  that  it  avails  itself 
of  onomatopoetic  sounds.  The  lower  always  ap- 
proaches the  higher  by  one  boundary,  and  the  higher 
always  finds  its  base-line  along  this  margin.  It  is 
none  the  ?ess  for  that  reason  the  higher.  The  or- 
ganic life  lies  just  below  the  conscious  life  and  sus- 
tains it.  So  far  as  intelligence — that  is,  conscious 
states — finds  expression  in  natural  sounds,  it  is  as- 
sociative intelligence ;  and  only  when  it  transcends 
them  by  a  mastery  of  relations,  and  so  starts  out  for 
the  exploration  of  new  realms  and  buds  into  fresh 
growth,  does  it  become  rational  intelligence. 

That  this  superior,  rational  insight  must  at  once 
put  the  lower  powers  into  a  new  position  is  evident. 
Organic  life  is  different  in  man  from  what  it  is  in 
the  higher  animals,  though  certainly  on  the  whole 


ORGANIC   LIFE   AND    CONSCIOUS   LIFE.  243 

not  less  complete.  To  a  full  circle  of  purely  animal 
functions  it  adds  offices  which  belong  to  it  in  its 
peculiar  dependencies  on  rational  life.  Such  are  the 
powers  of  articulation  in  their  complete  form ;  the 
powers  of  song,  and  of  musical  perception  as  con- 
ditioned on  the  structure  of  the  ear  ;  the  powers  of 
expression  in  blushing,  weeping,  smiling,  laughing, 
and  in  the  facial  play  of  features.  The  organic  life 
is  also  capable  in  man  of  profound  modifications  in 
tone,  induced  by  the  voluntary  powers.  This  is 
seen  in  what  we  term  carriage  and  gait,  the  grace 
and  decision  of  movement,  in  clearness  and  com- 
pleteness of  articulation,  in  the  compass  of  the  voice, 
and  in  the  depths  and  strength  of  respiration.  The 
organic  powers  can  thus  assume  a  more  perfect 
form,  and  be  worked  up  to  a  higher  performance. 

The  organic  life  in  man  is  also  made  much 
more  dependent  on  the  conscious  life  for  its  devel- 
opment. In  the  lower  animals,  and  to  a  great  de- 
gree in  the  higher  ones,  sensations  are  organically 
correlated  with  the  appropriate  motions,  as  in  walk- 
ing and  flying.  In  man  like  relations  are  largely 
the  result  of  experience,  the  coordination  is  con- 
sciously and  protractedly  established.  If  this 
adaptation  of  actions  to  distances  was  secured  per- 
fectly and  unconsciously  by  man,  that  fact  would 
serve  to  anticipate  and  check  those  rational  esti- 
mates on  which  his  later  progress  depends.  This 
constant,  unconscious  correction  of  our  movements, 
as  in  walking, — an  automatic  action  in  us  that  has 
grown  up  with  and  out  of  a  voluntary  one — must  be 
present  to  relieve  the  rational  powers ;  but  if  our 


244  RATIONAL   LIFE. 

life  is  to  remain  flexible,  and  capable  of  redirection, 
there  must  be  the  use  and  insertion  of  purely  intel- 
lectual processes.  The  two  elements,  organic  and 
rational,  must  be  maintained  in  mutual  ministra- 
tion. When  any  particular  sensations  and  actions 
have  been  protractedly  correlated,  we  shift  the  de- 
pendence wdth  great  difficulty.  Thus,  a  carpenter 
holds  a  nail  and  drives  it  with  no  consciousness  of 
directing  the  blow  by  the  eye  ;  but  let  the  light  be 
diverted  and  the  hand  instantly  becomes  uncertain. 
He  would  learn  the  simplest  act  under  these  new 
conditions  with  great  difficulty.  The  deaf  are  dumb 
not  through  any  defect  in  the  organs  of  articulation, 
but  because,  in  losing  the  sense  of  sound,  they  have 
lost  the  impressions  with  which  the  action  of  the 
vocal  organs  is  usually  united.  The  wonderful 
muscular  flexibility  involved  in  the  free  use  of  the 
voice  grows  up  with  the  conscious,  auditory  life. 
In  the  deaf,  who  have  learned  to  talk  in  connection 
with  lip-reading,  an  entirely  new  coordination  has 
been  established. 

While  the  conscious  life  is  thus  ever  working 
its  way  downward  into  the  organic  life,  this  still 
retains  essentially  its  old  limits,  and  most  of  its 
independent  power.  Instinctive  action,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  extension  upward  of  organic  action 
under  peculiar  constitutional  stimuli,  almost  wholly 
disappears  in  man.  These  instincts,  covering  the 
space  between  purely  organic  and  purely  intellec- 
tual action,  were  only  a  provisional  occupation  of 
ground  to  be  ultimately  held  by  the  higher  power. 
They  may  be  compared  to  the  scaffolding  by  means 


INSTINCTIVE   LIFE   AND   RATIONAL   LIFE.      245 

of  which  the  final  structure  is  erected.  Before  rea- 
son is  present  in  vigor,  while  feeble  associative  proc- 
esses are  slowly  working  their  way  among  many 
embarrassments,  this  insufficient  action  of  the  mind 
needs  to  be  supported  by  vigorous  constitutional 
tendencies,  by  instincts.  Putting  the  same  fact 
under  the  form  of  development,  the  organic  life  ac- 
quires and  transmits  special  functions,  peculiar  co- 
ordinations of  decided  advantage  to  their  possessor  ; 
but  the  conscious  life,  when  it  comes,  occupies  the 
same  ground  still  more  successfully,  and  so  super- 
sedes the  instinct,  crowding  back  the  organic  func- 
tion into  a  narrower  circle.  Instinct  in  man  is  an 
insignificant  factor,  and  belongs  chiefly  to  the  dawn 
of  his  life.  Some,  misled  by  a  superficial  resem- 
blance, have  likened  the  intuitions  of  man  to  in- 
stincts. The  difference  between  them  is  very 
great.  They  both  act  with  decision,  it  is  true  ; 
but  the  certainty  of  the  instinct  is  that  of  a  ma- 
chine, working  equally  well  in  light  and  in  dark- 
ness ;  the  certainty  of  an  intuition  that  of  the  mind, 
moving  in  clear  light. 

The  ground  rescued  by  the  reason  from  the  or- 
ganic action  known  as  instinct,  is  chiefly  occupied  in 
man  by  skill  and  habit,  and  kept  open  to  new  in- 
troductions and  modifications  by  a  pervasive,  con- 
scious power.  The  coordinations  of  skill,  as  in 
the  pianist,  are  established  by  voluntary  effort, 
maintained  in  practice  automatically,  kept  plastic, 
reshaped  and  improved  by  farther  effort.  Habit 
is  a  like  result,  reached  with  less  carefulness  and 
decision  in  the  voluntary  action.  We  rise  into  skill, 


246  RATIONAL   LIFE. 

while  we  often  allow  ourselves  to  sink  into  habits,  to 
come  under  automatic  tendencies  unfavorable  to 
our  true  power.  Thus  the  unconscious  life  is  con- 
stantly springing  up  to  sustain  the  conscious  life, 
and  proffer  to  it  its  forces.  The  well-trained  man 
acquires  in  action  much  of  the  certainty  of  instinct 
with  none  of  its  inflexibility.  The  organic  life 
creeps  upward  as  habit,  and  covers  any  ground 
that  may  be  vacant  between  it  and  the  rational  life  ; 
and  the  rational  life  pushes  downward  as  skill,  and 
claims  for  its  own  ends  the  powers  that  are  neces- 
sary to  sustain  its  voluntary  life. 

Associative  life  is  also  assigned  a  subordinate 
position  by  the  preponderance  of  the  rational  im- 
pulse. When  this  is  feeble,  as  in  a  savage,  mental 
constructions  are  either  those  of  empirical  associa- 
tions, or  are  greatly  warped  by  them.  Of  these 
irrational,  associative  judgments,  the  innumerable 
superstitions  of  the  lower  races  are  an  excellent  ex- 
ample. They  have  been  foisted  on  the  mind  by 
accidental  conjunctions.  When  the  thoughtful  and 
voluntary  life  gains  power,  associations  are  deter- 
mined in  their  own  character  by  it,  and  henceforth 
minister  to  it.  Impressions  are  not  united  fortui- 
tously in  memory,  but  by  causes  and  reasons.  The 
unanalyzed  associations  of  experience  no  longer 
occupy  the  mind  ;  a  vigorous  intelligence  rises  up 
to  use  them,  and  set  their  limits  in  shaping  them 
to  its  own  purposes.  Thus  the  associations  of  the 
artistic  mind  are  themselves  artistic ;  of  the  scientific 
mind  scientific,  as  they  are  formed  under  a  con- 
trolling attention  to  special  relations. 


ASSOCIATIVE  JUDGMENTS.  24/ 

Associative  judgments  bear  also  in  man  the  same 
relation  oftentimes  to  rational  judgments,  that  habit- 
ual actions  do  to  purely  voluntary  ones.  Rational 
judgments  that  are  frequently  repeated  become  as- 
sociative judgments,  the  conscious  connection  of 
insight  being  dropped.  Thus  a  word  of  frequent 
use  loses  its  figurative  force,  and  becomes  literal  in 
a  new  meaning.  It  takes  up  directly  by  association 
an  idea  which  it  had  before  expressed  only  indi- 
rectly, through  a  discerned  resemblance.  The 
thousand  associative  judgments  which  now  consti- 
tute in  perception  our  sense  of  distance,  position, 
form,  are  a  good  illustration  of  the  office  which  as- 
sociation performs  in  a  single  sense,  like  that  of 
vision.  The  mind  is  relieved  by  it  of  the  necessity 
of  traveling  over  familiar  ground  in  full-formed 
judgments,  and  enabled  to  pass  on  directly  to  new 
labors.  The  associative  process  is  thus  to  the  ra- 
tional process  what  involuntary  is  to  voluntary  ac- 
tion ;  what  organic  functions  are  to  intelligent  ones. 
It  is  the  storehouse  of  knowledge,  the  condition  of 
the  accumulation  of  rational  power.  Observe  how 
one  threads  the  familiar  streets  of  a  city,  retaining 
unbroken  the  connections  of  thought ;  and  observe, 
also,  how  one  hears  familiar  truths  and  customary 
words  with  slight  attention,  and  yet  is  aroused  at 
once  by  any  new  or  strange  or  untrue  utterance. 
The  rational  power,  having  constructed  its  asso- 
ciations, leaves  to  them  ordinary  action,  and  reserves 
itself  for  an  occasion. 

The  lower  life  thus  in  every  phase  underlies  the 
higher  life,  tends  to  push  up  into  it  and  take  its 


248  RATIONAL   LIFE. 

place,  when  this  is  feeble ;  or,  when  this  is  strong, 
readily  gives  way  before  it,  and  ministers  to  it. 
Man  could  do  little  or  nothing  as  a  rational  being, 
could  not  his  purposes  and  thoughts  be  passed  over 
for  execution  to  the  associative  and  organic  forces, 
which  lie  below  them.  These  relations  at  once 
limit  and  enlarge,  constitute  and  define  our  powers. 

The  lower  development,  as  now  presented,  pre- 
pares the  way  for  the  higher,  and  when  this  is 
reached  takes  a  position  of  service  under  it.  This 
higher  life,  however,  has  its  own  germs,  its  own 
centres,  and  is  in  no  sense  the  product  of  the  powers 
below  it.  These  are  conditions  to  it,  the  pedestal 
on  which  it  stands,  but  are  not  it.  Thus  develop- 
ment provides  for  a  long  delay  in  the  appearance  of 
reason,  and  yet  for  its  rapid  growth  when  it  comes. 
The  accumulations  of  life  in  each  successive  stage, 
as  organic,  instinctive  and  associative,  self-sufficing 
as  each  one  of  these  stages  have  been,  are  none  the 
less  all  put  at  the  disposal  of  reason,  and  are  ready 
to  unite  with  it  in  a  yet  higher  unfolding.  Thus 
the  steps  are  each  good,  and  all  together,  very 
good. 

That  the  centres  of  each  higher  life  are  distinct, 
are  seen  in  their  very  nature.  Instinct,  indeed, 
may  be  regarded  as  organic  life  unfolded  in  a  new 
direction,  shaping  itself  toward  the  more  remote  de 
pendencies  of  its  environment,  but  associative  life 
has  an  absolutely  new  element  in  consciousness, 
and  rational  life  in  the  intuitions.  Each  of  them 
clusters  about  this  new  factor.  This  fact  of  a  true  in- 
crement is  also  disclosed  in  the  fact  that  each  sue- 


DEVELOPMENT.  249 

ceeding  term  reacts  most  vigorously  on  previous 
ones.  A  simple  development  in  a  continuous  line, 
an  increased  involution  of  identical  forces,  could 
hardly  do  this.  The  growth  of  intelligence  as  a 
whole  is  not  one  merely  of  accumulations,  the 
thickening  of  an  old  stratum,  but  later  terms  give 
new  results.  Like  the  second  centre  or  focus  in 
an  ellipse,  reconstructing  the  entire  figure,  they  call 
out  new  relations,  and  require  a  discussion  of  their 
own.  Conscious  powers  supersede  instinctive  ones  ; 
reason  invades  the  lower  life  to  reshape  it  under  its 
own  ends,  and  so  declares  itself,  not  an  additive 
tendency,  but  a  new  and  culminating  government. 

The  same  independence  is  also  seen  in  the  sud- 
den way  in  which  the  rational  movement  proceeds 
when  it  has  found  inception.  A  nation,  like  the 
Greek  or  the  English  nation,  will  push  over  large 
spaces  in  an  inconsiderable  period ;  or,  which  is 
more  to  the  point,  as  there  are  many  accidental  and 
irrelevant  considerations  to  retard  national  develop- 
ment, individuals  will  leave  many  boundaries  and 
many  grades  of  knowledge  behind  them  in  a  life-time. 
Genius  is  not  slow-paced  evolution,  but  the  sudden 
disclosure  of  surprising  potentialities.  The  lowest 
races  also,  while  capable  in  some  instances  of  a  col- 
lective movement  that  is  astonishing,  will,  in  favored 
individuals,  pass  over  at  once  half  or  two-thirds  of 
the  ground  that  divides  the  lowest  from  the  highest 
men. 

Most  evolutionists  would  put  the  native  Austra- 
lian well  down  toward  the  lower  boundary  of  hu- 
man intelligence ;  and  some  of  them  would  place 


250  RATIONAL   LIFE. 

him  not  far  from  midway  between  the  highest  ani- 
mals and  the  highest  men.*  Yet  the  children  of 
Australians  still  on  the  plains,  gathered  up  in  the 
English  government-schools,  win  equal  rewards  in 
scholarship  with  the  children  of  Englishmen.  Dr. 
A.  M.  Henderson,  long  a  resident  of  Melbourne, 
who  stated  this  fact  to  me,  put  it  even  somewhat 
stronger.  As  these  awards  of  proficiency  in  the 
several  schools  are  official,  the  statement  is  a  sim- 
ple one,  and  does  not  easily  admit  of  mistake.f 

Let  any  one  make  his  selection  among  animals, 
and  bend  his  whole  strength  to  the  effort,  and  see 
how  considerable  a  part  of  this  lower  half  of  the 
division  can  be  traversed.  The  relative  ease  of 
movement  over  all  the  interspaces  of  human  intel- 
ligence, and  the  insuperable  barriers  which  its 
boundaries  present  to  those  without  them,  show 
plainly  that  there  is  in  man  a  new  departure  under 
its  own  conditions. 

That  the  progress  of  nations  and  races  as  con- 
trasted with  that  of  individuals  is  slow,  or  that 
when  it  becomes  rapid  through  vigorous  external 
influences,  as  in  the  case  of  the  Hawaiians,  it  is 
liable  to  be  in  a  measure  superficial  and  illusory, 

*  Cosmic  Philosophy,  vol.  ii.  p.  294. 

t  An  official  report  before  me  says  of  one  of  these  schools  at 
Lake  Wellington :  *'  The  examinations  by  the  government-school 
hispector  have  been  very  good  again,  and  the  whole  5th  class  have 
passed  the  standard  examination,  and  received  their  certificates." 
A  written  report  of  the  same  school,  by  James  Holland,  says  : 
"  The  children  of  this  school  have  again  passed  a  most  creditable 
examination.  They  display  a  really  very  remarkable  amount  of 
intelligence  and  quickness." 


DEVELOPMENT.  25 1 

are  facts  that  do  not  materially  affect  our  argument 
We  are  discussing  the  potentiality  of  the  human 
type,  and  every  individual  represents  that  type ; 
Toussaint  L'Ouverture  as  truly  as  his  lowest  fellow- 
countryman.  The  laws  which  control  social  de- 
velopment bring  in  new  principles  beyond  those  of 
the  potentiality  of  the  type,  the  individual.  They 
introduce  choice,  and  ethical  actions  and  reactions 
in  a  complicated  and  extended  form. 

The  intuitions  which  are  to  us  the  organizing 
forces  of  spiritual  life  are  referred  by  evolutionists 
conjointly  to  experience  and  inheritance.  The 
chief  gain  of  the  introduction  of  this  new  element 
of  heredity  is  thought  to  be  that  it  sufficiently  ex- 
plains the  sense  of  necessity  and  certainty  which 
often  accompanies  these  intuitions,  as  for  example 
the  axioms  which  pertain  to  space,  the  notion  of 
causation,  and  of  moral  obligation.  "  The  neces- 
sity of  a  belief  and  its  experimental  origin,"  says 
this  philosophy,  "  are  but  two  sides  of  the  same 
fundamental  fact."  *  "  The  universality  and  the 
necessity  of  unconditional  propositions,  whether 
relating  to  space-relations,  or  to  any  other  rela- 
tions whatsoever,  must  inevitably  result  from  the 
absolute  uniformity  in  the  organic  registration  of 
experiences,  and  does  not  therefore  involve  any 
a  priori  element."  f  The  transfer  by  inheritance  of 
this  perfect  unity  of  organic  impression  is  assumed 
as  the  true  explanation  of  the  depths  of  the  rut 
into  which  the  movements  of  mind  have  fallen  in 

*  Cosmic  Philosophy,  vol.  i.  p.  149.  t  Ibid.  vol.  i.  p.  loi. 


252  RATIONAL  LIFE. 

these  directions.  The  new  doctrine  seems  to  us 
more  remarkable  for  its  tacit  confession  of  failure 
in  previous  presentations  from  the  same  sources 
than  for  the  skill  with  which  it  makes  good  the  ac- 
knowledged deficiency. 

The  thing  to  be  explained  is  the  depth  of  cer- 
tain clear  convictions,  for  example,  that  two  straight 
lines  cannot  enclose  a  space.  This  certainty  is  re- 
ferred to  uniform  experience  and  transmitted  im- 
pressions. A  difficulty  which  would  strike  any 
mind  at  once  in  this  theory  is  that  many  of  these 
necessary  truths,  indeed  the  most  of  them,  are  re- 
moved in  their  statement  and  definite  perception 
from  ordinary,  undeveloped  intelHgence,  and  would, 
therefore,  have  had  no  opportunity  to  accumulate 
conviction.  The  conceptions  and  curves  of  mathe- 
matics, the  axioms  of  logic,  the  highest  statements 
of  ethics,  have  no  repeated  statement  in  the  gen- 
eral current  of  human  experience,  and  could  have 
gained  no  confirmation  in  this  way.  We  are  to 
remember,  moreover,  that  it  is  the  clear  conscious 
hold  of  these  truths  on  the  mind  that  is  to  be  ex- 
plained, not  an  unconscious,  automatic  one.  Let 
us  return  in  thought  to  the  first  experience  in  the 
history  of  intelligence  in  which  any  one  of  these 
convictions  came  out  in  its  true  force.  If  the 
truth,  being  then  present  as  a  truth  by  virtue  of 
its  own  inherent  power,  did  seem  to  involve  an 
a />rwf  I  elQmQnt,  that  conviction  might  indeed  have 
been  transmitted,  if  it  were  a  proper  subject  of 
heredity ;  but  could  not  itself  be  explained  by  it. 
Could  it  be  explained  by  the  transmission  of  some- 


NECESSITY   AND   TRANSMISSION.  253 

thing  other  than  itself,  prior  to  itself,  and  the  fore- 
shadowing of  itself  ?  We  think  not.  These  con- 
victions are  living  convictions,  insights,  not  organic 
sequences  ;  hence  the  transmission  of  any  auto- 
matic connections  inferior  to  them  could  not,  by 
simple  repetition,  be  transmuted  into  them.  Trans- 
mission alters  nothing,  introduces  no  new  element. 
It  may  confirm  a  line  of  sequence,  but  it  cannot 
transform  it  into  an  insight.  Our  most  complete 
skill  brings  no  new  vision  of  relations.  Hence,  as 
our  purpose  is  to  explain  an  intellectual  conviction, 
a  true  insight  of  mind,  we  are  not  helped  by  a 
theory  which  refers  it  to  anything  lower  than  it- 
self, no  matter  how  often  that  inferior  relation  may 
have  been  repeated.  Repetition  issues  in  habit, 
not  in  knowledge.  The  inquiry  still  returns,  How 
came  the  mind  clearly,  consciously  to  reach  these 
experiences  ?  No  amount  of  previous  automatic 
action  can  answer  this  question. 

This  theory  lays  hold  of  a  single  fact,  overlooks 
its  dependencies,  exaggerates  it,  and  then  assigns 
it  an  impossible  work.  The  conscious,  voluntary 
conditions  of  any  particular  series  of  actions  may 
indeed  pass  away,  and  the  movement  remain  only 
the  more  certain  ;  formal  judgments  may  sink  into 
associative  ones,  and  these  be  not  less  serviceable ; 
but  this  class  of  facts  does  not .  disprove  higher 
powers,  nor  dispose  of  them,  but  only  shows  their 
necessity.  They  are  instances  of  the  way  in  which 
the  higher  as  higher  reacts  on  and  rules  the  lower. 
They  furnish  no  analogy  by  which  to  explain  those 
clear  intuitions  which  often  spring  up  at  once  in 


254  RATIONAL    LIFE. 

the  mind.  These  secondary  facts  which  have 
given  rise  to  the  theory,  when  seen  in  their  true 
relations,  are  found  quite  alien  to  the  higher  in- 
sights of  the  mind,  and,  in  the  phenomena  which 
they  do  explain,  to  involve  the  previous  action  of 
superior  powers. 

This  opens  the  way  to  a  farther  answer  ;  the 
theory  evolves  the  lower  out  of  the  higher,  not  the 
higher  out  of  the  lower,  and  so  reverses  the  true 
sequence  of  evolution.  The  lower  prepares  the 
way  for  the  higher,  and  then  the  higher,  present 
as  a  true  increment,  reacts  on  the  lower,  and 
thoroughly  subordinates  it  to  itself.  The  strict, 
narrow  theory  of  evolution  cannot  neglect  this  or- 
der of  sequence,  though  it  refuses  to  recognize  a 
real  increment.  But  the  view  of  intuitions  under 
consideration,  having  its  attention  exclusively  oc- 
cupied by  this  reaction  of  the  higher  on  the  lower, 
struggles  to  invert  their  entire  dependence,  and 
put  associative  experience  before  instinct,  and  ra- 
tional experience  before  intuitions.  The  bird  is 
thought  to  accumulate  knowledge,  and  transmit  it 
as  an  instinct  of  migration  ;  the  mind  of  man  to 
frame  in  experience  an  obscure  precept  of  morality, 
and  to  transmit  it  as  a  luminous  principle.  Thus 
because  the  higher  does  attach  itself  to  the  lower 
and  modify  it,  experience  softening  instincts  and 
confirming  intuitions,  this  fact  is  laid  hold  of  as 
typical,  and  the  inferior  development  is  made  to 
follow  bodily  from  the  superior  one.  Experience 
as  a  whole  is  a  higher  term  in  evolution  than  in- 
stinct, and  must  have  its  support.  Instinct  can 
no  more  be  made  to  depend  primarily  on  experi- 


INTUITION   AND   EXPERIENCE.  255 

ence,  than  organic  function  could  be  made,  by  like 
reasoning,  to  follow  after  instinct.  Equally  futile 
is  it  to  liken  the  certainty  and  necessity  of  intui- 
tional truths  to  the  force  of  habit,  and  then  derive 
them  from  the  repetitions  of  experience.  The 
error  here  is  double.  The  intuition  is  first  de- 
graded to  a  semi-organic  connection,  and  then 
made  to  follow  intellectual  processes  as  lower  than 
they.  The  intuition  is  not  lower,  but  higher  than 
the  judgments  of  experience ;  but  if  it  be  lower 
than  they  are,  then  it  cannot  be  referred  in  se- 
quence to  them.  This  is  to  build  from  the  top 
downward  ;  and  the  only  analogue  on  which  this 
great  constructive  error  rests  is  found  in  the  re- 
actions here  and  there  of  the  higher  on  the  lower. 
Study  our  intuitions  carefully  and  candidly,  and 
we  shall  see  that  they  cannot  be  identified  with 
the  transmitted  ties  of  instinct.  Or  so  identify  them, 
if  we  will,  with  such  organic  dependencies,  and  we 
shall  then  see  that  as  lower  products  in  our  con- 
stitution they  cannot  be  made  to  follow  as  a  whole 
from  higher,  conscious  powers.  The  secondary 
modifications  of  instinct  which  arise  under  experi- 
ence can  assume  no  such  constructive  force  as  be- 
longs to  the  intuitions,  shaping  our  entire  intel- 
lectual development. 

Our  last  difficulty  with  this  derivation  is  that  it 
finds  no  support  in  the  laws  of  descent.  Intuitions 
are  not  transmissible  material.  There  are  three 
tendencies  in  descent  whose  relations  to  each  other 
are  not  yet  well  defined  ;  the  primary  law  of  trans- 
mission, by  which  the  characteristics  of  the  parent 


256  RATIONAL   LIFE. 

reappear  in  the  offspring ;  the  law  of  atavism,  b}?- 
which  tendencies  long  since  left  behind  suddenly  re- 
vive ;  and  the  law  of  variation,  by  which  undefined 
and  also  decisive  differences  are  constantly  arising, 
referred,  without,  however,  any  insight  into  actual 
dependencies,  to  the  varying  circumstances  of  a 
changeable  environment.  We  are  now  alone  inter- 
ested in  the  first  of  these  three  terms,  that  of  im- 
mediate inheritance.  This  law  plainly  rests  on  the 
organic  life.  It  is  associated  with  life  from  its  very 
beginning,  and  is  as  constant  a  part  of  it  as  any 
one  of  its  potentialities.  This  seems  to  us  to  be  in 
every  grade  of  intelligence  its  exclusive  basis. 
Spiritual  powers  are  not  passed  by  inheritance, 
aside  from  their  dependence  on  physical  ones, 
Organic  functions  under  each  specific  type  are  of 
course  carried  over  habitually  ;  this  is  a  funda- 
mental law  in  life.  Though  unexplained  varieties 
may  arise  in  descent,  the  law  begins  immediately 
to  lay  hold  of  the  increment,  and  control  it  with 
much  the  same  force  with  which  it  governs 
the  ninety-nine  parts  of  customary  constitution. 
Though  the  law  of  inheritance  relaxes  enough  in 
varieties  to  secure  conditions  of  progress,  it  returns 
immediately  to  its  steadfastness,  and  so  holds  the 
ground  gained.  Instincts  as  primarily  organic  are 
also  transmitted  in  full  vigor.  The  experience 
which  attaches  itself  so  directly  to  an  instinct  as  to 
incorporate  itself  with  it,  like  that  which  leads  some 
birds,  as  the  cliff -swallows,  to  modify  th'eir  methods 
of  nesting,  also  passes  by  descent.  In  the  same  way 
the  acquired  habits  of  dogs,  that  rest  on  any  pecu- 


INTUITION   AND    INHERITANCE.  25/ 

liar  organic  power  or  tendency  are  transmissible. 
Diseases  which  work  themselves  into  organic  struc- 
ture are  often  inherited,  while  the  results  of  acci- 
dents, essentially  alien  to  organic  tendency,  make 
no  impression  on  offspring.  In  man,  vigorous, 
functional  development  that  has  been  secured  in 
part  by  voluntary  effort  may  impart  vigor  to  pos- 
terity, while  that  skill  which  lies  in  the  mastery 
of  muscles,  having  no  organic  relation  to  one  office 
more  than  to  another,  but  being  principally  de- 
pendent on  the  voluntary  life,  is  not  transferred. 
Yet,  as  all  vigorous  effort  and  active  thought  may 
increase  functional  force,  it  is  quite  possible  for 
them,  when  ordered  in  a  healthy  way,  to  reappear 
in  children  as  organic  strength. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  more  conscious  and  vol- 
untary our  acquisitions  are,  the  less  do  they  pass  by 
inheritance.  Skill,  associative  judgments,  rational 
judgments,  knowledge,  character,  moral  purpose,  are 
personal  terms,  transferred,  if  transferred  at  all, 
by  the  intellectual  law  of  influence.  They  are  pos- 
sessions held  by  the  mind,  and  subject  to  its 
conditions.  Galton  has  plainly  shown,  by  a  large 
generalization  from  many  examples,  that  marked 
intellectual  ability  in  one  member  of  a  family  is 
followed,  as  a  rule,  by  some  corresponding  ability 
in  other  members.  Yet,  as  this  talent  often  arises 
suddenly,  is  very  waveringly  transmitted  at  the 
outset,  and  is  almost  always  dissipated  in  two  or 
three  generations,  these  facts  seem  to  be  in  entire 
harmony  with  the  results  we  have  a  right  to  expect 
from  simple,  organic  inheritance,  and  intellectual 

17 


2$ 8  RATIONAL   LIFE. 

transfer,  each  under  its  own  law.  Unusual  talent 
implies  in  some  directions  unusual  organic  vigor 
and  fineness  of  nervous  structure.  These  may  well 
pass  from  father  to  child,  and,  without  conditioning 
the  intellectual  character  of  the  child  on  purely 
physical  causes,  may  yet  give  him  superior  instru- 
ments of  life.  The  station  also  and  opportunities 
won  by  the  father  accrue  unmistakably  to  the 
benefit  of  the  son,  and  prepare  for  him  an  open, 
prosperous  way.  The  instruction  and  influence  of 
the  father  will  usually  lie  in  the  same  direction.  It 
would,  therefore,  be  very  surprising,  if  facts  did  not 
disclose  these  combined  influences  working  in  be- 
half of  the  transfer  of  intellectual  power.  These 
tendencies  of  inheritance  have  been  especially  con- 
spicuous in  public  men,  statesmen  and  jurists.  But 
success  in  public  life  calls  for  a  strong  physical 
development,  while  the  position  of  the  parent  may 
give  very  unusual  advantages  to  the  son  in  a  similar 
career. 

Genius  is  far  less  transmissible  than  talent. 
The  reason  is  obvious ;  it  is  less  dependent  on 
organic  conditions  and  on  culture.  Health  and 
study  do  less  for  it.  Poets  and  artists  are  not  born 
of  poets  and  artists,  because  their  powers  are  of  so 
purely  a  spiritual  character,  and  so  much  beyond 
the  range  of  acquisition.  Musicians  have  in  some 
instances  clustered  together  in  lines  of  descent,  but 
music  involves  a  peculiar  physical  organization,  and 
one  that  may  be  profoundly  affected  by  practice. 
Moreover,  this  talent,  in  its  moderate  forms,  is 
very  dependent  on  cultivation. 


INTELLECTUAL   TRANSMISSION.  259 

In  the  drama,  composition  and  representation 
imply  very  different  powers.  The  first  is  more 
purely  intellectual ;  the  second  depends  on  a  mer- 
curial, impressible  temperament,  and  vigorous, 
flexible,  physical  powers.  Shakespeare  was  but  an 
indifferent  actor.  The  great  dramatists  die  and 
leave  no  heirs  ;  while  the  descendants  of  a  Kemble 
or  a  Kean  may  long  tread  the  stage. 

Intellectual  transmission  is  primarily  condi- 
tioned on  the  conscious  and  voluntary  life,  and  only 
indirectly  on  heredity.  The  first  terms  of  purely 
spiritual  powers,  while  greatly  modified  in  their  un- 
folding by  organic  conditions,  remain  first  terms, 
unexplained  by  any  law  of  physical  descent.  We 
can  no  more  dispense  with  original  differences  than 
we  can  with  the  force  of  surrounding  circumstances 
and  physical  constitution.  Intellectual  powers  are 
as  supersensible  in  their  dependence  backward  as 
they  are  in  their  own  nature,  and  in  their  develop- 
ment forward.  A  rigorous  law  of  physical  descent 
is  only  another  assertion  of  the  supremacy  of  matter 
over  mind,  and  is  certainly  not  sustained  by  the 
observation  of  daily  life.  Almost  every  family  will 
bring  some  contradiction  to  it ;  while  nothing  is 
more  marked  than  the  sudden,  volcanic  way  in 
which  men  of  intellectual  and  spiritual  genius  are 
thrust  up ;  or  than  the  very  limited  traces  they  leave 
behind  them  in  their  posterity.  There  is  indeed  a 
moral  preparation  for  them,  and  a  moral  sequence 
to  them  in  society,  but  among  genital  forces  they 
stand  alone. 

If  we  apply  this  view  of  descent  to  the  theory 


26o  RATIONAL   LIFE. 

under  discussion,  we  shall  see  that  our  intuitions, 
as  our  very  highest  acts  of  intelligence,  are  least  of 
all  transferable  by  inheritance.  The  great  geom- 
etrician, whose  insights  seem  almost  to  create  the 
laws  which  he  discusses  in  many  and  remote  rela- 
tions, neither  gets  nor  gives  his  treasures  of  knowl- 
edge by  descent.  The  moralist  or  the  reformer,  who 
puts  new  constructions  on  social  life,  is  as  inde- 
pendent of  ancestors  as  of  the  conventional  senti- 
ment that  rules  around  him,  and  passes  over  his 
possessions  only  to  those  children  of  wisdom  that 
can  accept  them.  Not  till  we  have  greatly  degraded 
our  spiritual  nature,  can  we  turn  its  treasuries  into 
blood  currents.  "  Faith  melteth  into  the  blood  " 
not  directly  but  indirectly,  by  spiritual  transfer  and 
by  secondary  physical  connections.  Physical  powers 
shall  at  length  fall  under  the  control  of  our  spirit- 
ual nature  with  a  fulness  we  have  not  dreamed  of ; 
but  only  as  it  shall  first  come  completely  under  its 
own  law,  and  from  its  own  position  set  up  those 
just  reactions  in  which  the  inferior  puts  itself  in 
ministration  to  the  superior. 

If  the  growth  and  grades  of  intelligence  are  at 
all  such  in  the  animal  kingdom  as  we  have  now 
presented  them,  there  is  a  steady  evolution  of  pow- 
ers, but  one  sustained  by  slight  and  by  decisive  incre- 
ments, and  driven  forward  in  definite  lines.  This 
we  believe  to  be  the  true  statement  of  the  case, 
that  the  organic  world  is  an  evolution,  but  one 
whose  first  terms  by  no  means  contain  its  last 
ones,  nor  one  which  sinks  into  a  purely  automatic 
movement.     That  kingdom  as  a  whole  is  a  true 


INCREMENTS.  26 1 

growth,  which  bends  in  passing  all  forces  to  its 
uses,  but  itself,  under  its  own  law,  enlarges  and 
multiplies  its  offices  as  it  proceeds.  All  that  sus- 
tains strict  physical  evolution  sustains  this  view  of 
the  world,  and  equally  all  that,  transcending  simple 
evolution,  looks  to  constructive  and  specific  powers, 
and  the  enlargement  of  resources  in  the  stages  of 
growth. 

Aside  from  the  innumerable  minor  increments 
that  attend  on  all  variations — variations  which  we 
cannot  express  in  "  terms  of  matter  and  motion,'' 
and  must  admit,  therefore,  at  least  provisionally,  as 
true  increments — we  have  a  decided  increment  in 
the  progress  toward  intelligence  in  the  introduction 
of  a  nervous  system,  also  manifest  increments  in 
the  rise  and  stages  of  development  of  each  special 
sense,  and  a  still  more  decisive  one  in  the  dim 
dawn  of  consciousness,  that  first  thin  ray,  the  pre- 
cursor of  all  intellectual  light.  Memory,  also, 
something  far  more  than  the  repetition  of  previous 
experiences,  for  these  had  been  repeated  from 
the  very  beginning  without  it,  was,  when  it  ap- 
peared, a  new  constructive  power.  By  it  were  ac- 
cumulated and  bound  together,  as  in  an  experience, 
those  associative  judgments  which  prepared  the  way 
for,  and  were  to  be  slowly  displaced  by,  the  latest 
and  largest  increment,  that  of  the  insight  of  rea- 
son. No  addition  rested  more  directly  on  all  that 
had  gone  before  it  than  this  of  intuitions,  and  yet 
none  brought  with  it  such  new  life,  and  so  large  a 
modification  of  previous  conditions,  as  the  rational 
insight  into  those  relations  by  which  intelligence, 


262  RATIONAL   LIFE. 

proposing  and  pursuing  ends,  lays  hold  of  physi- 
cal forces  as  instruments  provided  to  its  hand. 

A  complete  change  in  the  plane  of  life  speedily 
arose  from  it.  Not  only  did  the  intellectual  elements 
hidden  from  the  eye  in  consciousness,  and  playing 
hitherto  a  subordinate  purpose  amid  physical 
forces,  at  once  gain  ground,  the  line  of  development 
no  longer  rested  with  the  individual  on  physical  de- 
scent, but  was  transferred  to  the  race  in  spiritual 
progress.  It  matters  little,  in  the  progress  of  ani- 
mal life,  whether  the  numbers  contained  in  species 
are  large  or  small,  save  as  increasing  the  chances 
of  variation,  and  as  giving  the  conditions  of  natural 
selection.  The  steps  of  growth  are  physical,  and, 
with  the  exception  of  those  directly  involved  in  a 
new  variety,  the  species  as  a  whole  contribute 
nothing  to  it,  but  rather  embarrass  it.  Herds 
among  animals  bring  safety,  scarcely  anything 
more.  Families  among  insects  may  minister  to  de- 
velopment, but  it  is  instinctive  rather  than  intel- 
lectual development.  With  man  everything  is  al- 
tered. The  seat  of  growth  has  been  transferred  to 
the  mind,  and  the  plane — rather  than  the  line — of 
development  has  passed  over  to  the  race.  The  in- 
dividual by  himself  is  insignificant,  an  inferior  ani- 
mal ;  united  with  his  fellows,  he  is  the  receptive 
centre  of  powers  radiating  in  from  all  directions — 
from  nature  below  him,  from  the  innumerable  race 
of  men  around  and  behind  him,  and  from  the  spir- 
itual world  above  him. 

Intelligence  is  unfolded  under  the  action  and 
reaction  of  many  minds,  the  concurrent  efforts  of 


DEVELOPMENT   AND   SOCIETY.  263 

many  persons;  while  the  field  of  morality  is  social 
action,  and  its  office  the  fit  construction  of  these 
reciprocal  relations.  Our  rational  nature,  then,  can 
find  development  only  in  society  ;  thence  comes  its 
incentives  and  its  aids  to  activity,  and  thither  it  re- 
turns its  own  gains.  Here  reign  the  spiritual 
laws  of  conduct  and  character.  As  a  result  of  this 
development  transferred  to  the  race,  the  range  of 
the  individual  is  immensely  increased,  and  is  made 
practically  infinite.  All  thought  feeds  his  thought, 
all  emotion  flows  in  on  his  heart,  and  swells  the 
stream  of  his  life.  Yet  these  immeasurable  gifts 
are  honestly  his,  and  paid  back  in  full  with  his 
gifts.  As  no  limit  can  be  set  to  the  race  in  the  va- 
riety, fecundity,  and  mobility  of  its  intelligence,  so  no 
limit  comes  to  the  individual  who  is  once  engrafted 
into  this  stock,  who  holds  by  this  trunk,  and  buds 
and  blossoms  among  its  branches.  No  more  com- 
plete transfer  of  activity,  without  the  loss  of  pre- 
vious conditions,  can  well  be  made  than  this  by 
which  the  individual  is  taken  into  the  race,  and 
finds  his  growth  one  with  it.  Life  is  first  a  physi- 
cal hierarchy  with  innumerable  gradations  and  min- 
istrations ;  but  so  finished,  it  makes  way  at  once  for 
a  new  spiritual  kingdom,  as  cities  spring  up  on 
some  rich  bottom-land,  under  the  bright  sun,  amid 
the  beautiful  landscape.  Surging  seas,  drifting 
floods,  ploughing  glaciers,  lifting  lands,  sinking 
shore-lines,  in  all  their  processes  of  construction, — 
grinding,  distributing,  and  recombining — no  more 
directly  prepare  tl.\e  way  for  vegetable  life  than 
this  in  turn  ministers  to  animal  life,  and  than  this, 


264  RATIONAL   LIFE. 

working  its  way  upward  through  the  twilight  of 
consciousness  into  the  full  dawn  of  intelligence, 
gives  itself  to  spiritual  functions  in  man. 

If  the  lower,  in  its  physical  unfolding,  furnishes 
the  conditions  of  the  higher,  not  less  does  the 
higher,  through  the  forecast  of  a  Presiding  Intelli- 
gence, and  the  expansion  of  a  rational  purpose,  in- 
clude and  expound  the  lower.  If  efficient  causes 
explain  the  movement  in  its  forces,  so  do  final  causes 
interpret  it  in  its  directions.  It  is  interlaced  up- 
ward and  downward,  backward  and  forward,  by  the 
two  conjointly,  and  thus  becomes  complete  by  them 
both  in  its  relation  to  the  human  mind. 

On  this  canvas,  so  painstakingly  prepared, 
laid  in  with  such  and  so  many  colors,  at  last  there 
comes  forth  a  spiritual  vision  in  ample  and  beau- 
tiful detail.  Not  to  understand  every  part  of  it  is 
to  understand  no  part  of  it ;  not  to  perceive  its 
consummation  in  man  is  to  miss  its  stages  of 
growth. 


^  Ll  li  If  A  i:  \ 
^  ('ALIF()UN[A.  J 

CHAPTER  IX. 

THE    SUPREME   REASON. 

While  one  class  of  philosophers  deny  to  the 
notion  of  the  infinite  any  intelligible  basis,  and 
so  escape  all  discussion  concerning  the  Infinite 
Reason  save  this  first  destructive  one,  another 
class  transform  in  a  very  unintelligible  and  un- 
warrantable way  all  the  conceptions  to  which  this 
adjective  is  applied,  and  fall  into  the  worse  fault 
of  making  that  which  they  admit  inadmissible. 
Thus,  because  God  is  infinite,  some  are  ready  to 
deny  to  his  action  ordinary  relations  to  space  and 
time,  and  to  regard  these  and  the  kindred  cat- 
egories of  the  reason  as  quite  inapplicable  to  him. 
Thus,  instead  of  remaining  the  Supreme  Reason, 
the  centre  of  light,  he  becomes  a  kind  of  Unreason, 
about  which  all  darkness  gathers.  To  deny  these 
first  conditions  of  knowledge  and  power  to  the  divine 
attributes  is  not  to  enlarge  them,  but  to  make  them 
perfectly  unintelligible ;  is  not  to  remove  their 
limits,  but  to  work  in  their  very  substance  such 
changes  as  to  make  of  them  contradictions  and  nul- 
lities.    Reason  is  one  in  nature,  whether  finite  or 

26s 


266  THE  SUPREME  REASON. 

infinite.  The  noun  retains  its  definition,  and  the 
adjective  gives  it  that  extension  of  which  this  def- 
inition is  capable.  Infinite  time  is  still  time,  with 
the  limits  which  belong  to  any  one  finite  period  re- 
moved. Infinite  space  and  infinite  power  are  space 
and  power,  with  all  special  restrictions  shaken  off. 
Infinite  space  does  not  become  infinite  time,  nor 
infinite  power  infinite  wisdom,  but  each  remains  to 
be  understood  as  before  in  its  own  nature.  Infinite 
intelligence  or  perfect  intelligence  is  not  something 
other  than  intelligence,  but  intelligence  in  its  fullest, 
largest  form.  If  the  adjective  breaks  in  on  the 
noun,  the  thing  designated  does  not  pass  to  its  per- 
fect state,  but  begins  to  disappear  altogether.  Om- 
nipotence that  does  not  include  all  finite  power 
under  its  own  form  is  not  omnipotent ;  nor  is  that 
omniscience  which  is  not  coextensive  with  the 
range  of  knowledge  as  knowledge.  Omnipresence 
that  should  have  no  reference  to  space  would  be- 
come an  unmeaning  word. 

So  the  Supreme  Reason  remains  throughout, 
subject  to  the  intrinsic  laws  of  reason,  to  its  pri- 
mary categories.  Space,  time,  causation  are  not  of 
the  nature  of  bounds  or  restrictions  put  upon  ra- 
tional action,  they  are  those  interior  conditions  which 
define  it  as  rational.  We  at  once,  therefore,  reject 
the  idea  that  the  knowledge  and  activities  of  God 
sustain  any  other  relation  to  time,  or  to  any  of  the 
categories  of  reason,  than  those  known  to  us  as  ra- 
tional ;  or  that  his  power  and  intelligence  become 
some  wholly  new  and  incomprehensible  thing  by  be- 
'ng  infinite.    Finite  power  may  be  largely  potential, 


INFINITE    POWER.  26/ 

and  infinite  power  must  be  potential.  The  Infinite, 
by  every  act  of  definite  realization  passes  its  pro- 
duct of  expressed  power,  how  great  soever  that 
product  may  be,  over  into  the  finite.  The  Universe, 
whatever  its  dimensions,  is  as  thoroughly  finite  as 
every  one  of  its  parts.  The  Infinite  in  power  is 
the  noumenon  which  we  put  back  of  its  phenomena 
collectively  taken.  In  the  same  way  intelligence 
includes  a  large  potential  element.  We  know  not 
only  what  is  present  to  our  thoughts,  but  all  things 
which  we  can  at  pleasure  recall  to  them.  Infinite 
knowledge  has  its  element  of  potentiality  as  well 
as  finite  knowledge.  Knowledge  in  posse  is  as  real, 
as  effective,  and  as  certain  a  term  in  reason  as 
knowledge  in  esse,  and  the  latter  cannot,  there- 
fore, in  the  Supreme  Reason  exclude  the  former  as 
in  some  way  less  perfect  than  itself.  The  two  are 
more  perfect  than  either  term  by  itself,  and  put 
knowledge  in  definite  relation  to  its  primary  cate- 
gories of  time,  space,  causation.  To  deny  poten- 
tiality to  knowledge  is  to  destroy  movement,  and 
to  break  in  on  its  real  nature.  It  is  as  if  we  should 
say  that  infinite  time  cannot  be  dealt  with  by  mo- 
ments, nor  infinite  space  be  thought  to  contain 
finite  measurements. 

The  things  momentarily  known  by  God  can  no 
more  be  infinite  than  the  things  momentarily  done 
by  him,  since  the  two  are  the  counterparts  of  each 
other.  In  the  very  knowing  as  in  the  very  doing, 
the  infinite  potentiality  passes  into  a  finite  ful- 
filment, comes  under  the  categories  of  reason. 
The  knowing  like  the  doing  of  God  can  take  on  the 


268  THE  SUPREME  REASON. 

notion  of  the  infinite  only  in  such  way  as  is  con- 
sistent with  its  rational  nature ;  its  perfection  and 
infinity  must,  therefore,  include  the  two  elements, 
the  potential  and  the  actual,  as  all  movement,  all 
unfolding,  all  reason  arise  in  the  passage  from  the 
one  to  the  other.  On  any  other  supposition  the 
unity  and  parallelism  between  the  knowing  and 
doing  of  God,  between  the  creative  thought  and 
the  Universe  would  be  lost.  The  actual  manifes- 
tations of  wisdom  and  power  go  hand  in  hand,  the 
intelligence  of  God  and  the  power  of  God  are  co- 
ordinate terms  in  creation.  That  the  Universe  in 
its  unfolding  from  era  to  era  is  the  conscious 
thought  of  God,  the  line  of  activity  along  which 
his  conceptions  gather,  through  which  his  intel- 
lectual life  is  realized,  uttered,  made  conscious  to 
himself  and  visible  to  us,  seems  just  as  certain  as 
it  is  that  this  alone  is  the  one  broad  ocean  of  physi- 
cal forces  which  is  fed  from  his  potentiality.  The 
unity  and  parallelism  of  his  activities  are  the  coun- 
terparts of  the  unity  and  parallelism  of  his  works. 

At  all  events,  this  is  the  only  way  in  which  we 
can  know  the  knowledge  of  God,  the  only  way  in 
which  it  is  capable  of  being  known,  the  way  in 
which  it  can  be  truly  and  justly  known.  The  whole 
movement  has  this  sufficient  confirmation  that  rea- 
son answers  to  reason  in  it,  and  knowledge  yields 
itself  to  knowledge ;  and  there  can  be  no  more  rad- 
ical principle  of  proof  than  this. 

But  what  are  the  differentiae  of  Supreme  Intel- 
ligence as  contrasted  with  finite  intelligence }  This 
question  involves  the  further  question.  What  are  the 


RESTRICTIONS   OF   FINITE   INTELLIGENCE.     269 

limitations  of  knowledge  that  are  put  upon  us  by 
our  finiteness  ?  That  all  our  knowledge  is  not  im- 
mediately conscious  knowledge,  knowledge  ever  be- 
fore the  mind  in  its  steadfast  gaze,  is  not  such  a 
restriction,  but  a  rational  incident  to  that  flow  of 
intellectual  life  which  is  itself  the  glory  of  life,  and 
of  which  time  is  the  abiding  category.  Change  in 
consciousness  is  motion  in  the  intellectual  world  as 
opposed  to  rest,  life  as  opposed  to  death.  It  is 
itself  a  perfection  involving  all  other  perfections, 
strength,  sympathy,  righteousness.  To  insist  that 
infinite  knowledge  is  stationary,  inert  knowledge,  is 
to  degrade,  not  to  exalt,  it ;  to  destroy,  not  to  en- 
large, spiritual  being.  Such  a  view  overlooks  the 
relation  between  the  finite  and  the  Infinite,  the  one 
in  perpetual  flow  from  and  return  to  the  other.  As 
the  present  moment  is  the  one  only  available  point 
of  eternity,  that  in  which  and  by  which  alone  the 
whole  conception  expresses  itself,  so  is  the  existing 
Universe  in  each  transitional  stage  that  through 
which  Infinite  wisdom  and  power  take  their  way, 
the  point  at  which  they  dismiss  the  potential,  pass 
into  the  actual,  and  accept  the  rational  conditions 
of  evolution.  This  conception  of  God  brings  us 
close  to  the  very  facts  of  the  Universe,  and  makes 
them  our  momentary  conditions  of  contact  with 
him. 

A  first  restriction  incident  to  finite  intelligence 
is  its  limited  perception,  its  narrow  knowledge  of 
facts.  Infinite  Intelligence  evokes  all  facts  out  of 
the  light  of  its  own  creative  thought,  and  so  holds 
them  all  in  perfect  oversight.   A  second  restriction 


2/0  THE  SUPREME  REASON, 

is  the  weakness  of  the  memory.  Facts  once  known 
escape  from  us  again,  and  perceptions  and  impres- 
sions flow  through  the  mind  like  a  river,  rather  than 
spread  out  in  it  like  a  lake.  The  Infinite  Con- 
sciousness holds  all  facts  in  its  horizon,  and  covers 
them  like  the  overarching  heavens.  If,  however, 
time,  as  we  believe  it  to  be,  is  an  inwrought  cate- 
gory of  reason,  which  reason  evolves  in  its  first  ac- 
tivities, God  no  more  loses  sight  of  the  past,  pres- 
ent and  future  than  do  we.  These  distinctions 
abide  in  the  very  nature  of  his  thought,  and  so 
enter  our  minds  because  they  are  the  eternal  frame- 
work of  reason.  The  past  fact  is  past  to  God  as 
decisively  as  to  us.  Any  other  view  enthrones 
chaos  and  night  again  in  place  of  the  eternal  light 
of  reason.  Complete  perception  gives  the  entire 
present,  perfect  memory  the  entire  past,  and  unre- 
stricted insight  the  future. 

The  third  limitation  of  the  mind  of  man  is  that 
it  only  slowly,  and  with  much  difficulty,  traces 
the  relations  of  ideas  to  each  other,  and  the  de- 
pendence of  causes  and  effects  on  each  other.  Our 
ratiocinations  are  the  tedious  travel  of  the  mind  from 
place  to  place  in  the  intellectual  world,  are  at  once 
our  weakness  and  our  strength,  our  pain  and  our 
pleasure.  We  have  a  narrow  circle  of  self-evident 
truths,  intuitions,  and  all  farther  truths  are  gotten 
laboriously  in  connection  with  them.  The  process 
of  reasoning,  as  a  necessity  arising  from  the  weak- 
ness of  insight,  belongs  to  finite  intelligence,  is 
constantly  pushed  aside  even  with  us  by  intuition, 
and  must    wholly  disappear   before  the  complete 


RESTRICTIONS    OF   FINITE    INTELLIGENCE.     2/1 

sweep  of  the  all-seeing  eye,  the  range  of  the 
Supreme  Reason,  whose  radius  of  vision  lies 
athwart  the  physical  and  the  spiritual  Universe  in 
their  utmost  compass.  The  substitution  of  intui- 
tion for  ratiocination  is  not  a  change  of  relations, 
but  of  the  rapidity  with  which  they  are  seen.  The 
paths  of  thought  are  the  same,  they  are  only  trav- 
ersed more  quickly.  Intuition  moves  instantly  to 
the  journey's  end,  while  reasoning  moves  warily, 
wearily,  and  often  halts  in  its  exhaustion.  God 
does  not  reason,  he  sees ;  and  sees  from  the  begin- 
ning to  the  end. 

This  fact  of  insight  does  not,  however,  create 
causal  sequences  where  there  are  no  such  se- 
quences. It  does  not  call  out  conclusions  where 
there  are  no  premises  on  which  they  can  rest.  The 
logical  coherences  of  thought  and  physical  causa- 
tion still  remain  the  lines  of  rational  movement  and 
of  complete  insight.  The  future  is  known  so  far 
as  it  lies  open  to  intuition  in  its  overruHng  prin- 
ciples, but  is  not  known  in  its  spontaneity  and  free- 
dom beyond  the  qualified  knowledge  which  these 
relations  imply.  These  creative  energies  retain 
their  nature  just  as  certainly  under  the  divine  in- 
sight that  orders  their  conditions  as  under  human 
scrutiny.  The  points  of  relatively  independent 
power  in  his  work  put  upon  the  Divine  Nature  no 
limitations,  but  may  best  of  all  express  his  attri- 
butes. We  proceed  in  all  this  on  our  fundamental 
truth,  that  reason  is  coherent  throughout ;  and  for 
it  to  abolish  in  its  own  name  at  any  point  its  funda- 
mental distinctions,  by  way  of  magnifying  in  some 


272  THE    SUPREME    REASON. 

unknown  way  some  unknown  factors  of  power,  is 
suicidal,  is  the  resignation  in  its  own  name  of  its 
own  supremacy.  This  is  to  say  to  Chaos,  Thou 
art  the  mother  of  all  things,  to  thee  let  our  thoughts 
make  haste  to  return. 

A  fourth  limitation  of  human  intelligence  is 
found  in  the  comparatively  few  things  which  it  can 
at  the  same  time  twist  into  the  thread  of  its  thought. 
A  half-dozen  objects  may  occupy  the  attention,  and 
though  these  may  representatively  involve  many 
others,  yet  the  exclusion  always  far  outweighs  the 
inclusion.  It  is  with  the  mind  as  with  the  eye  ;  its 
horizon  is  not  very  far  off,  and  the  things  within  it 
are  held  with  much  obscurity.  Hence  the  line  of 
actual  experience  includes,  even  in  the  most  com- 
prehensive minds,  but  a  small  parts  of  the  facts 
which  are  pressing  in  upon  it,  and  leaves  an  infinite- 
ly larger  number,  many  of  which  might  be  very 
pertinent  to  its  purposes,  wholly  beyond  its  survey. 

The  Supreme  Reason  gathers  its  included  data 
from  the  entire  compass  of  facts,  as  fibres  from  every 
portion  of  the  distaff  pass  into  thread  till  each  shed 
of  material  is  consumed,  or  as  the  nerves  of  sensa- 
tion in  man  come  in  from  every  part  of  the  physical 
periphery,  and  centre  in  the  brain. 

The  conscious  life  of  God  is  thus  complete  and 
commensurate  with  the  creation.  Perfect  percep- 
tion, perfect  memory,  absolute  insight,  unexhausted 
attention,  make  the  knowledge  of  God  the  counter- 
part of  those  manifold  processes  which  are  brought 
together  in  the  Universe,  and  in  the  Universe 
pushed  forward  in  ever  enlarging  development.  The 


DIFFICULTIES.  2/3 

consciousness  of  God  is  thus  the  transition  term 
between  the  finite  and  the  Infinite.  These  rational 
processes  in  progress  about  us  are  the  very  data 
from  which  we  infer  the  Divine  Mind,  and  equally, 
therefore,  must  infer  the  form  and  expression  of 
Divine  Intelligence. 

We  do  not,  of  course,  say  that  this  view  is  with- 
out difficulties,  without  darkness  on  all  sides  ;  we 
only  say  that  it  seems  to  us  most  modestly,  yet  most 
firmly,  to  hold  fast  as  real  what  we  seem  to  know, 
and  to  refuse  to  surrender  it  on  reasons  drawn  from 
what  we  do  not  know,  and  destructive  to  the  very 
process  of  knowing.  It  expounds  the  abstract  by 
the  concrete,  and  keeps  near  in  its  expositions  to  the 
actual  starting  points  of  knowledge.  It  takes  its  sta- 
tion with  the  light,  the  feeble  light,  if  you  please,  of 
reason,  and  holds  aloof  therewith  the  enveloping 
darkness,  eager  to  swallow  all  up  again.  It  is  faith- 
ful to  its  first  terms  of  thought,  and  yet  waits  for 
their  enlargement.  It  will  not,  with  the  Positive 
Philosophy,  say  that  sensation  is  the  compass  of 
knowledge,  nor  yet  in  bold  idealism  allow  its  con- 
ceptions to  slip  from  a  constant  confirmation  by 
facts.  Things  and  thoughts  are  put  in  perpetual 
interaction  and  on  mutual  interpretation. 

It  takes  little  heed,  therefore,  of  objections 
which,  like  Hansel's  riddles  of  the  infinite,  arise 
from  the  verbal  expansion  of  a  transcendental  con- 
ception ;  or  of  objections  which  rest  exclusively  on 
the  narrow,  crass  experience  of  the  physicist.  Of 
the  latter  order  is  the  difficulty  already  alluded  to, 
that  mind  is  united  to  matter  only  through  a  ner- 
i8 


274  THE   SUPREME   REASON. 

vous  system,  therefore  that  the  consciousness  of 
God,  if  real,  must  somewhere  find  its  cerebrum, 
cerebellum  and  spinal  cord.  In  our  finiteness  we 
are  conditioned  in  power  and  at  the  same  time 
granted  power  by  an  ability  to  touch  and  rule  the 
physical  world — by  this  very  fact  that  certain  re- 
sources of  energy  and  storehouses  of  force  are  put 
at  our  disposal  in  the  body.  These  become  our 
capital,  our  first  investment  in  actual  life.  Such  a 
relation  is  incident  to  the  fact  that  we  come  into  a 
world  complete  in  itself,  realized  in  all  its  forces  and 
tendencies  long  ago,  and  that  our  bodies  are  made 
our  points  of  attachment  to  it.  When  we  reason 
to  the  Infinite,  these  relations  of  secondary  depend- 
ence, from  the  very  nature  of  the  argument,  are 
impertinent,  and  must  be  dropped.  Not  only  finite- 
ness, but  its  necessary  incidents  disappear.  The 
argument  is  rendered  irrational  and  suicidal  by  any 
other  method  ;  as  much  so  as  to  say,  we  are  finite,  all 
things  are  finite,  therefore  the  Infinite  is  finite.  If 
we  are  to  reason  to  the  Infinite,  we  must  grant  the 
Infinite  as  a  conception,  and  it  is  a  denial  of  this 
conception  to  say  that  God  must  have  a  brain,  ar- 
guing it  from  experience ;  that  his  thought  and 
power,  like  those  of  man,  must  be  conditioned  on  a 
coextensive  relation  of  matter  and  mind.  This  is 
to  destroy  the  Infinite  by  dividing  the  Universe  be- 
tween two  elements,  the  physical  and  the  mental ; 
and  is  to  give  to  matter  more  than  its  moiety  of 
power,  since  it  settles  for  mind  the  conditions  and 
limits  of  activity,  both  as  being  that  in  union  with 
which  alone  mind  can  be,  and  as  being  that  in  which 


PENETRATION    OF    REASON.  2/5 

and  by  which  and  under  which  alone  mind  can 
work.  Reason  has  a  far  more  profound  penetration 
into  the  antecedent  conditions  of  its  problems  than 
this  assertion  implies.  Such  difficulties  are  begot- 
ten as  creeping  larvae  of  the  empirical  philosophy. 
Yet  even  the  clear,  bold  mind  of  Martineau  seems 
to  find  some  force  in  them,  and  he  is  ready  to  start 
suggestions  as  to  the  possible  brain  of  God.  If  we 
go  stumbling  about  with  the  plumb  lines  of  expe- 
rience in  this  way,  the  rectitude  of  the  Universe 
will  be  a  very  narrow,  relative  affair  of  our  own. 

What  is  the  relation  of  the  Supreme  Reason  to 
matter,  to  life,  to  mind  ?  Can  we  say  anything  in- 
telligibly about  these  relations  .-*  Is  there  any  valu- 
able purpose  subserved  by  outlying  theories  on  these 
points  ?  If  we  answer  the  second  question  in  the 
affirmative,  we  shall  answer  the  third  in  the  same 
way.  Coherent  thoughts  on  these  topics,  though  they 
may  be  no  more  to  the  mental  eye  than  are  shreds 
of  clouds  in  the  sky  to  physical  vision,  may  yet 
keep  these  spiritual  fields  open  to  the  mind,  hint 
to  us  their  true  nature  and  depth,  make  visible  the 
otherwise  invisible  passage  of  light  through  them, 
and  so  retain  us  in  an  attitude  to  receive  knowledge 
when  knowledge  shall  come  to  us.  The  trouble  is 
that  our  narrow,  physical  experiences  tend  to  ob- 
scure the  whole  topic,  to  make  us  short-sighted,  and 
to  close  the  way  to  insight  with  doubts  that  have 
no  deeper  ground  than  the  narrow  range  of  the 
senses.  Thus  we  repeat  in  philosophy  the  great 
error  of  morals,  in  allowing  our  lower  nature  to  give 
standards  to  our  higher  nature.  We  believe  it  great 


2/6  THE  SUPREME  REASON. 

gain  to  occupy  this  ground  of  ultimate  relations 
with  conceptions  that  spring  from  our  rational  in- 
tuitions, if  only  to  drive  back  and  hold  back  those 
grosser  and  narrower  ones,  that,  with  no  rightful 
ownership,  come  in  in  the  name  of  science  to  pre- 
empt the  spiritual  realm.  The  analogues,  the  sug- 
gestions, the  types  of  interpretation  with  which  we 
approach  the  Supreme  Reason  must  be  taken  from 
reason,  from  mind  and  not  from  matter,  from  philos- 
ophy not  from  science.  Any  walls  which  we  shall 
place  on  the  earth,  and  build  up  to  Heaven,  will  be 
Babel  walls,  occasions  of  confusion  and  overthrow. 
We  find  in  matter,  and  operative  upon  it,  cer- 
tain fixed  forces.  These  are  the  true  noumena 
which  the  mind,  by  an  insight  and  necessity  of  its 
own,  puts  back  of  all  phenomena,  converting  these 
into  the  effects  of  which  those  are  the  causes. 
These  forces, have  that  definite  adaptation  to  each 
other,  and  that  mathematical  precision  which  are 
the  crowning  marks  of  intelligence.  They  bear  as 
distinctly  as  anything  can  bear  these  two  indica- 
tions of  reason,  a  supersensible  source  and  exact 
relationship  to  each  other.  The  first  is  emphasized 
by  the  way  in  which  matter  breaks  up  into  ultimate 
atoms,  which  are  only  ultimate  centres  of  activity ; 
and  the  second  by  the  way  in  which  each  of  these 
forms  of  activity  stands  correlated  with  other  ac- 
tivities, and  is  expressed  through  them.  There  is 
thus  to  matter  no  undissolved  nucleus,  and  no  in- 
dependent quality.  These  activities,  so  supersen- 
sible in  being,  so  comprehensive  and  exact  in  re* 
lationship,    we    refer,   therefore,    directly  to    the 


MATTER   AND    GOD.  2// 

Supreme  Productive  Reason.  Against  this  view 
their  steadfastness  may  cause  the  thought  to  mili- 
tate. But  reason  may  be  steadfast,  in  its  first 
principles  is  steadfast,  as  steadfast  as  mathematical 
truth. 

In  living  things  we  find  these  forces  curiously 
combined,  wonderfully  watched  over,  varied  in 
their  manifestations,  compacted  into  distinct  types ; 
and  these  types,  with  a  permanence  on  the  one 
side  and  a  variation  on  the  other  which  strangely 
emphasize  and  sustain  each  other,  transmitted  in 
endless  Unes  of  descent.  These  lives  are  not 
forces,  but  plastic  powers  which  combine  and  rule 
forces,  firm  yet  variable  tendencies,  purposes  which 
push  their  way  among  the  fixed  laws  and  the  shift- 
ing forms  of  combination  which  characterize  the 
physical  world.  These  lives  even  more  supersen- 
sible than  forces,  as  immediately  adaptive  and  more 
flexibly  adaptive  than  they,  we  refer  to  God  as 
definite  powers  made  distinctly  operative  among 
these  fixed  material  conditions.  These  inner  webs 
of  combination  we  can  only  understand  as  the  acts 
of  reason,  and  this  fact  takes  into  the  Supreme 
Reason  those  powers  which  are  the  agents  of  this 
intricate  relationship,  daily  made  to  our  intellectual 
vision  more  complete  and  beautiful. 

To  this  immediateness  of  the  Supreme  Rea- 
son expressed  in  matter  and  material  forces,  and 
yet  more  expressed  in  the  plastic  powers  known  as 
life,  there  will  be  made  strong  objection.  This  re- 
lation will  be  thought  not  to  give  the  separation 
between  matter  and  mind  which  belongs  to  them, 


2/8  THE  SUPREME  REASON. 

to  merge  the  physical  Universe  in  the  Divine  Na- 
ture, and  the  Divine  Nature  in  it,  in  a  sort  of 
pantheism.  This  objection  of  the  religious  mind 
will  be  sufficiently  met  in  meeting  the  allied  objec- 
tion of  the  scientific  mind,  taken  from  the  opposite 
side.  If  the  theologian  feels  that  God  is  too  far 
lost  for  us  in  matter,  the  scientist  feels  that  matter 
is  too  far  lost  for  us  in  God.  He  will  say,  We  have 
apparently  no  true  matter,  no  gross,  stubborn  qual- 
ities that  only  partially  and  reluctantly  subserve 
intellectual  ends,  qualities  that  bring  with  them 
not  merely  resistance,  but  inaptness  and  defile- 
ment. This  gross  substance  in  my  hand  or  under 
my  foot,  preserving  its  coarse  or  ugly  identity  no 
matter  into  what  undesirable  conditions  it  may 
have  fallen,  or  what  offensive  shapes  it  may  have 
assumed,  this  cannot  be  an  immediate  expression 
of  the  divine  energy,  cannot  be  here  and  now  the 
unconstrained  divine  thought.  Matter  is  appar- 
ently an  instrument  of  fixed  qualities  fairly  well 
adapted  to  the  majority,  and  perhaps  to  the  most 
important,  of  its  ends,  but  often  quite  unfortunate 
in  its  secondary  relations  and  at  war  with  our 
specific  feelings  and  purposes.  We  like  not  to  be 
told,  then,  that  this  instrument,  so  unpliant  and 
defective,  instead  of  being  some  third  thing  of 
mingled  good  and  bad  quality  between  us  and  God, 
and  seeming  to  divide  the  kingdom  with  him,  is 
the  immediate  energy  of  God  himself.  If  this  be 
true,  its  relatively  independent  character  disap- 
pears, its  obstinate  nature  ceases  to  be  a  con- 
venient reference  of   difficulties.     We   are  dealing 


MATTER   AND    GOD.  2/9 

henceforth  directly  with  God,  and  must  bear  over 
to  the  Supreme  Reason  these  qualities  of  our  ma- 
terials, these  conditions  of  our  lives,  the  unfor- 
tunate and  the  fortunate  ones  alike. 

The  disposition  to  regard  matter  as  an  inde- 
pendent something  casting  its  limitations  upon  us, 
arises  from  its  immediate  and  gross  relations  to 
us,  from  the  remote  and  supersensual  character  of 
our  conceptions  concerning  God,  and  from  the  un- 
derlying feeling  that  his  action  is  properly  pure, 
perfect  volition,  moving  directly  and  unrestrainedly 
toward  its  own  ends,  and  not  a  patient  unfolding 
of  principles,  the  protracted  involution  and  evolu- 
tion of  means  and  ends. 

In  a  Supreme  and  completely  Rational  Nature, 
the  relation  of  the  will  to  the  other  powers  is  very 
different  from  that  which  it  sustains  in  man,  whose 
disproportionate  and  unsubdued  impulses  are  in 
constant  conflict.  With  us  the  right,  the  holier 
affections,  need  to  be  habitually  championed,  and 
their  proper  champion  is  the  will.  Thus  will,  as 
personal  power,  is  ever  thrusting  itself  into  the 
foreground,  and  the  good  and  the  evil  of  the  moral 
world  are  directly  referable  to  it.  Yet  will  as  will 
is  blind  impulse,  its  wholesome  service  is  that 
which  comes  to  it  as  the  retainer  of  righteousness, 
its  real  character  is  derived  from  its  relation  to  the 
reason.  With  the  Supreme  Reason  the  case  is 
quite  different.  Will  has  no  separate,  no  antag- 
onized, existence.  It  simply  underlies  as  working 
power  a  perfectly  harmonized  and  complete  nature. 
The  will  of  God,  which  we  so  often  and  so  falsely 


280  THE  SUPREME  REASON. 

liken  to  the  will  of  man,  is  not  pushing  personal 
force,  half-blind  in  its  tendencies,  it  is  the  quiet 
on-going  of  large  reason,  the  simple  procedure  of  a 
symmetrical  and  perfectly  ordered  power,  never 
expressing  itself  in  sudden  momentum,  in  impulses 
of  vohtion,  because  there  is  no  resistance  within 
and  no  resistance  without  of  such  magnitude  as  to 
provoke  and  hasten  action.  Will,  then,  in  God  is 
simply  the  flow  of  his  rational,  beneficent,  creative 
thought,  and  to  expect  any  portion  of  his  conduct 
to  correspond  to  those  fitful  energies  in  man  in 
which  a  narrow  spirit,  and  one  full  of  conflicting 
tendencies,  gathers  itself  up  in  a  convulsive  effort, 
is  quite  to  misunderstand  the  case.  The  will  of 
God  is  the  reason  of  God.  In  him  we  are  in  con- 
tact always  with  a  wise,  patient — so  patient  as 
often  to  provoke  our  impatience — purpose,  which 
has  complete  resources,  spread  through  ample  time, 
at  its  disposal.  The  divine  thought,  therefore, 
will  show  no  hasty  strides  of  will,  called  out  by 
hope  or  fear ;  no  blind  pushing  power ;  but  the 
firm  unfolding  of  truth  ;  the  steadfast  flow  of 
means  and  ends,  each  adequate  to  each  ;  the  clear, 
slow,  absolute  resolution  of  all  rule  into  reason. 

With  this  relation  in  mind  of  will  to  reason  in 
the  Supreme  Reason,  by  which  the  one  is  merely 
the  thoroughly  sustained  energy  of  the  other,  we 
shall  be  able  better  to  understand  the  objection  to 
regarding  matter  in  its  properties  and  laws  as  the 
present  expression  of  the  activity  of  God,  to  wit, 
that  the  secondary,  instrumental  relations  of  the 
physical    world,    so   plainly  written  upon   it,    are 


MATTER   AND    GOD.  28 1 

thereby  lost.  This  objection  receives  its  force  from 
our  tendency  to  carry  over  the  human  conception 
of  volition  to  God,  and  from  the  supposition  that 
his  personal  activity,  like  our  own,  must  always  be 
a  direct  thrust  of  will,  now  in  this  direction,  now  in 
that,  among  conditions  otherwise  inert ;  and  one 
always  so  rapid  and  vigorous  as  to  annihilate 
spaces  and  times,  and  to  cause  means  and  ends  to 
collapse  in  instant  fulfilment.  This  is  to  overlook 
the  supreme  under-current  of  reason,  which,  by  its 
own  nature,  spreads  out  like  a  river,  and  maintains 
its  own  clear,  wholesome,  measured  flow,  merely  be- 
cause that  flow  is  measured,  wholesome  and  clear. 
If  matter  were  to  lose  its  instrumental  character, 
to  cast  off  and  to  take  on  attributes  at  random,  or 
for  transient  ends  even,  it  would  cease  to  be  the 
complete  expression  of  reason,  and  become  that  of 
will,  arbitrary  and  fickle  human  will. 

The  divine  will  is  rational ;  it,  therefore,  tarries 
in  rational  dependencies,  and  gives  them  full  time 
to  do  all  that  was  expected  of  them.  In  other 
words,  stubborn,  slow  and  faulty  an  instrument,  as 
in  some  relations  we  may  think  matter  to  be,  it  can 
retain  from  age  to  age,  and  from  age  to  age  evolve 
and  enlarge  its  purely  secondary  relations,  and  still 
be  the  immediate  expression  of  the  Supreme  Rea- 
son ;  for  reason  is  ever  measuring  its  forces  by  its 
purposes,  accepting  facts  and  working  by  the  invo- 
lution of  one  relation  in  another.  Reason  dwells  on 
this  relation  of  means  to  ends  ;  on  this  reciprocal 
coordination  with  each  other  of  many  parallel  lines 
of  activity ;  on  the  logical  incidents  of  premises, 


282  THE  SUPREME  REASON. 

and  the  extended  causal  connections  of  primary 
forces  and  laws,  and  is  satisfied  if  all  is  construc- 
tively and  ultimately  shaped  to  its  own  purposes.  It 
does  not  annihilate  difficulties,  it  overcomes  them ; 
it  does  not  will  order  and  beauty  into  being,  it 
thinks  them  into  being,  and  this  even  more  in  their 
higher  than  in  their  lower  manifestations. 

A  third  objection  to  this  direct  reference  of  ma- 
terial energies  to  God  seems  to  us  to  confront  the 
second  or  scientific  objection  of  the  apparent  inde- 
pendence of  matter,  and,  by  a  mutual  balance,  to  con- 
firm our  presentation.  It  is  this  :  If  matter  is  the 
direct  activity  of  God,  then  ought  all  obstacles,  all 
delays,  that  arise  from  it  to  be  directly  overcome, 
either  by  withdrawing,  increasing  or  modifying  its 
forms,  as  the  case  should  seem  to  demand.  These 
two  objections  spring  from  the  same  feeling,  and 
express  it  in  opposite  directions.  The  scientist 
may  say,  Matter  is  stubborn,  steadfast,  the  very  an- 
tipodes of  volition  ;  it  can  not  be  divine  volition. 
The  theologian  may  say,  If  matter  is  the  divine 
volition,  then  ought  that  volition  to  break  barriers, 
and  push  more  directly  to  its  ends  ;  it  ought  not  to 
submit  to  the  endless  delays  and  circumlocutions 
and  failures  that  physical  properties  put  upon  it. 
Both  err  from  the  same  feeling;  both  confuse  them- 
selves by  supposing  volition  in  its  highest  as  in  its 
lowest  forms  to  be  blind,  the  obliteration  of  the 
steps  of  reason,  the  instant  reaching  of  ends.  The 
theologian  seems  ready  to  say.  The  reason  why  the 
Kingdom  of  Heaven  does  not  come  is  because  the 
divine  will  does  not  move  directly  upon  its  purpose, 


MATTER   AND    GOD.  283 

but  chooses,  among  other  things,  to  allow  matter 
and  material  conditions  to  intervene  as  a  retarda- 
tion, as  faulty  means  to  be  skilfully  worked  with, 
or  as  a  lengthy  space-way  to  be  patiently  traveled 
over.  The  scientist  seems  ready  to  say,  Matter  is 
plainly  a  resistance,  and  often  a  defeat,  to  moral 
ends ;  it  cannot  be,  therefore,  pure  divine  volition. 
Both  reason  most  faultily,  like  Mill,  from  the  prem- 
ises of  infinite  power  and  infinite  goodness  to  the 
possibility  of  instant  and  complete  good.  All  things 
seem  to  them  open  to  power,  to  will.  They  over- 
look the  fact  that  reason  is  the  law  of  the  Supreme 
Reason,  that  reason  assigns  to  will  its  conditions, 
and  that  will,  working  otherwise  than  under  these 
conditions,  would  be  irrational  and  baffle  itself. 
The  theologian  and  the  scientist  here  incidentally 
meet  on  the  same  ground,  and  that  ground  is  an 
oversight  of  the  supremacy  of  rational  relations. 
The  religionist  thinks  it  would  be  peculiarly  divine 
to  annihilate  means  and  ends,  and  usher  in  a  king- 
dom with  one  regal  word,  to  say,  Let  there  be  light ; 
and  the  scientist  thinks  because  means  and  ends 
are  not  so  annihilated  in  the  material  world,  there- 
fore its  methods  are  not  spiritual  but  physical, 
that  matter  does  not  express  directly  the  divine 
wisdom,  but  is  at  best  a  balance-wheel  that  sobers 
down  the  personal,  rational  element  to  a  service- 
able, practical  revolution. 

Both  scientist  and  religionist  seem  to  us  to  fall 
into  a  faulty  anthropopathic  method.  The  question 
of  the  relation  of  the  physical  to  the  spiritual  world 
must  be  settled  by  the  perfect  penetration  of  the 


284  THE   SUPREME   REASON. 

former  by  the  thought,  the  reason,  the  relations  of 
the  latter.  -More  and  more  it  seems  to  us  to  be 
everywhere  interfused  with  reason,  with  law,  and  the 
fact  that  these  laws,  these  relations  to  itself  and  to 
man,  are  not  instantly  and  perfectly  gathered  up  into 
moral  good  is  incident  to  the  relations  themselves,  to 
reason  itself — to  the  fact  that  extension  and  time  are 
its  very  conditions.  That  they  are  all  working  out 
righteousness  is  plain,  and  that  they  are  working  it 
out  with  such  rapidity  as  reason  admits,  is  becom- 
ing more  and  more  plain.  The  honest  objector 
must  here  show  a  better  method,  not  merely  assert 
the  possibility  of  one  ;  that  is  to  say,  he  must  give 
reasons,  and  work  in  and  under  reason,  and  not  leap 
at  once  beyond  it  with  a  saltus  of  pure  power  or 
volition.  Reason,  not  power,  is  the  germ  of  the 
Universe.  To  discuss  farther  the  gracious  penetra- 
tion everywhere  of  matter  by  mind  would  be  to 
enter  on  Natural  Theology,  and  this  is  not  our  pur- 
pose ;  we  only  wish  to  indicate  some  reasons  for 
regarding  the  physical  world  as  the  immediate,  in- 
stant outcome  of  the  Divine  Mind. 

This  view  assigns  to  matter  and  to  mind  their 
true  relations.  Matter  is  not  thus  something  alien 
to  mind,  imposing  its  own  difficulties  on  the  other- 
wise quick  and  skilful  thoughts  ;  matter  in  its  pro- 
perties and  dependencies  is  purely  the  product  of 
mind,  is  rational  from  beginning  to  end,  and  from 
side  to  side,  is  the  mind's  immediate  form  of  ac- 
tivity, its  speech.  Tardy  and  defective  developments 
are  not  due  to  matter  but  to  mind,  are,  in  the  widest 
scope   of  reason,  not   so   much   real   as  apparent. 


NATURE   AND    REASON.  28$ 

Matter  is  nothing  and  does  nothing  except  as  the 
ground  of  its  being  and  doing  are  given  it.  Diffi- 
culties are  not  in  matter  as  something  inert,  an  ob- 
stacle in  the  path  of  reason,  they  are  in  reason  it- 
self. Reason  in  all  its  activities  by  its  very  nature 
sets  up  connections,  relations,  limitations ;  and 
what  it  has  set  up  it  cannot  without  reason,  that  is, 
without  other  limitations  and  relations,  pull  down 
again.  There  is  not,  then,  a  property  in  matter 
which  is  not  rationally  there,  and  which  must  not, 
therefore,  remain  there,  till  a  sufficient  reason  ap- 
pears for  its  removal.  The  laws  of  reason  are  em- 
phatically laws,  indeed  the  only  laws,  and  it  does 
not  belong  to  any  volition,  not  even  the  divine  voli- 
tion, to  rush  by  them,  or  confound  them  in  a  coup 
de  main.  Grant  that  the  law  of  inheritance  may 
produce  a  monster,  the  monster  is  so  far  forth  a  ra- 
tional product,  demanded  by  conditions  broadly  and 
constructively  operative,  and  we  cannot  wisely  ask 
such  results  to  be  anticipated  by  an  intervention  of 
will,  or  in  shamefacedness  ascribe  them  to  the  awk- 
ward and  clumsy  ways  of  Nature  versus  God.  Rea- 
son is  the  primary  nature,  the  eternal  constructive 
nature,  which  gives  its  laws  to  all  things  as  they 
flow  from  it.  The  wisdom  of  God  cannot  be  saved 
by  an  apology  based  on  the  difficulties  it  encounters. 
If  the  physical  constitution  of  the  world  does  not 
seem  to  us  to  be  rational,  it  is  not  because  the  di- 
vine reason  is  not  everywhere  in  it,  in  the  calm, 
clear  flow  of  a  perennial  purpose  ;  but  because  we 
have  not  insight,  experience  and  scope  enough  fully 
to  discern  that  divine  thought.   Our  growing  knowl- 


286  THE  SUPREME  REASON. 

edge  has  taught  us  a  thousand  times  the  deeper 
lessons,  the  truer  significance,  of  physical  laws  ; 
and  will  till  the  very  end,  till  matter,  like  a  trans- 
parent crystal  without  a  flaw,  shall  let  the  light  of 
the  divine  mind  completely  through  it.  Surely  as 
we  have  waited  not  in  vain  hitherto,  we  may  well 
preserve  a  little  longer  this  waiting  attitude. 

The  relation  now  suggested  between  nature  and 
God  best  accords  with  our  own  experience.  In 
some  inscrutable  way  we  do  put  our  thought  and 
energy  into  the  work  of  our  hands.  The  engineer 
with  his  engine  turns  the  sudden  purpose  of  his 
mind  into  immediate  movement  and  ponderous 
force.  The  musician  with  his  instrument  converts 
feelings  into  pulsations  of  air,  that  occupy  and  de- 
light the  sense  of  hearing  with  the  same  positive 
being  as  do  the  waves  of  a  dancing  lake  the  vision. 
We  feel  and  we  act  in  every  part  of  our  bodies,  yet 
we  are  not  these  bodies.  We,  indeed,  create  no 
forces,  but  we  use  and  direct  them,  an  act  of  sove- 
reignty of  the  same  intellectual  scope.  We  may 
liken  God's  relation  to  the  Universe  to  this  connec- 
tion, so  intimate  to  us,  of  our  bodies  and  our  minds, 
and  this  familiar  yet  inscrutable  dependence  may 
shadow  forth  the  invisible  things  of  God.  That  the 
image  only  touches  and  does  not  cover  the  case  is 
a  matter  of  course.  If  it  were  more  exact,  it  would 
destroy  itself  by  a  too  complete  correspondence. 

A  third  fitness  which  belongs  to  this  view  is 
the  harmony  it  establishes  between  the  natural  and 
the  supernatural.  We  can  reject  neither;  certainly 
not  the  natural,  unless  our  reason  is  to  grow  giddy 


NATURE   AND    REASON.  28/ 

again  in  an  aimless  whirl  of  appearances,  in  the  in- 
constant fears  of  superstition;  certainly  not  the 
supernatural,  unless  our  reason  in  all  its  hopes  and 
affections  is  to  be  frozen  up  by  laws  that  bind,  but 
bind  for  no  benignant  purpose ;  in  forces  that  creep 
forward,  but  creep  forward  with  no  more  freedom 
and  no  more  beneficence  than  the  grinding  glacier. 
But  if  we  are  to  hold  both  the  natural  and  the  super- 
natural, the  well-defined  method  and  the  internal 
power,  the  means  by  which  and  the  energy  with 
which  thought  works,  then  both  must  be  in  har- 
mony, amenable  to  the  same  Supreme  Reason.  The 
natural  cannot  be  one  set  of  forces  governed  by  one 
principle,  and  the  supernatural  be  a  second  set  con- 
trolled by  a  conflicting  principle.  Under  the  view 
now  offered  it  is  one  divine  energy  in  the  natural 
and  supernatural  that  flows  forward,  or  bends  on 
either  hand,  according  to  the  permanent  and  the 
shifting  conditions  of  reason.  Reason  is  the  most 
permanent,  the  most  pliant  of  all  powers,  of  all  proc- 
esses. It  is  not  a  machine,  though  it  can  work 
with  its  inflexible  energy  ;  it  is  not  a  fortuitous 
force,  though  it  has  all  the  flexibility  of  freedom, 
though  like  the  fluent  air,  it  feels  everywhere  the 
heat,  the  heat  of  the  least  affection  or  colliding  im- 
pulse in  the  human  heart. 

We  thus  gather  up  in  this  view  all  that  either 
science  or  theology  can  teach  us.  We  meet  God 
as  the  scientist  would  have  us  meet  him,  in  nature 
and  under  the  laws  of  nature  ;  and  we  meet  him  as 
the  theologian  would  have  us  meet  him,  as  the 
Supreme  Presence  and  Ruler  in  the  world.  Neither 


288  THE  SUPREME  REASON. 

branch  is  sacrificed,  the  physical  and  the  personal, 
the  fixed  and  the  flexible,  the  form  and  the  spirit, 
are  firmly  held  and  indissolubly  blended.  We  are 
not  allowed  to  wander  dreamily  in  our  work  and  our 
thought,  for  here  is  nature,  God  with  us ;  we  are 
not  allowed  to  grovel  in  our  labor,  or  be  indolent 
in  it,  or  despair  of  it,  for  here  is  Revelation,  God 
with  us. 

There  is  one  other  weighty  confirmation.  These 
relations  of  matter  and  mind  make  the  connection 
of  God  with  his  work  one  and  the  same  for  all  time  ; 
whatever  God  has  been,  that  he  is  ;  and  what  he  is 
not  to-day,  that  he  has  never  been.  Homogeneity 
of  relationship,  uniformity  of  method,  these  are  the 
very  pith  of  omniscience,  omnipotence,  omnipres- 
ence. Any  theory  of  the  Universe  that  puts  God 
here  and  now  outside  its  bounds  as  far  as  creation 
or  control  or  intervention  are  concerned,  and,  then, 
by  compensation  relegates  the  divine  wisdom  and 
power  to  some  point  of  beginning,  where  he  was 
all  in  all,  is  self-destructive.  The  principles  and 
fundamental  relations  that  prevail  once  prevail 
always.  There  may  be,  there  must  be,  minor 
changes  within  the  development,  the  unfolding  it- 
self ;  changes  giving  modifications  of  m.ethod,  but 
the  fundamental  relations  of  matter  and  mind,  of 
the  Universe  with  its  Author,  cannot  be  of  this 
order.  There  can  be  in  the  moral  even  less  than 
in  the  physical  world  extended  cataclysms.  The 
thought  and  power  of  God  are  pervasive,  or  they 
have  no  existence.  If  we  set  apart  times  and 
places  for  them,  they  will  soon  vanish  altogether. 


GOD    IN   THE    WORLD.  289 

If  this  Universe  can  lie  unsustained  in  the  present, 
if  it  can  hold  possession  of  the  aeons  of  evolution, 
we  need  no  God  simply  to  give  the  thoughts  a 
fictitious  beginning,  a  start-off.  But  perfect  sup- 
port in  this  Universe  of  living  energies  can  only 
mean  perpetual  creation  ;  to  mean  less  is  to  mean 
nothing.  If  the  forces  in  the  world  are  now  suf- 
ficient unto  themselves,  they  were  so  a  year  since, 
two  years  since,  in  all  past  time.  In  what  one 
moment  and  by  what  sudden  change  do  they,  as  we 
trace  them  back  through  the  flow  of  time,  lose  in- 
dependence and  become  dependent.  There  is  no 
homogeneity  in  such  a  conception,  and  we  have 
in  it  two  inscrutable  things  instead  of  one,  and  then 
an  inscrutable  relation  between  them.  The  im- 
agination may  play  many  tricks  with  us  in  distant 
periods,  but  time  itself  comes  forward  with  a  ter- 
rible identity  of  relations,  a  sublime  homogeneity 
of  methods. 

The  conception  of  God  is  of  little  worth  to  us, 
would  be  practically  lost,  under  such  a  transfer  of 
his  power  to  an  act  of  creation.  We  are  now 
thoroughly  enclosed  by  physical  forces,  and  if  we 
venture  on  the  past  or  on  the  future  these  same  con- 
ditions encompass  us  everywhere,  and  cradle  the 
race  as  the  ocean  the  ships  that  rest  on  its  bosom. 
A  Supernatural,  a  Divinity  beyond  the  bounds  of 
the  Universe,  if  such  things  are,  have  no  more  re- 
lation to  life  than  lunar  measurements  to  a  land 
speculator.  They  bring  us  no  duties,  raise  no 
hopes,  offer  no  consolations. 

The    Supreme    Reason    is    supreme   in   every 
19 


290  THE  SUPREME  REASON. 

moment  and  every  place  and  every  action.  This 
is  the  only  external  fact  properly  correlative  with 
the  rational  conception.  The  homogeneity  of  the 
Divine  Life  is  the  first  term  in  its  apprehension, 
not  a  dead  but  a  living  homogeneity,  not  a  statical 
but  a  dynamical  one.  That  we  live  and  move  and 
have  our  being  in  God,  is  the  crowning  truth  of 
reason  and  Revelation. 

In  what  we  have  now  said  of  the  Supreme 
Reason,  we  have  not  so  much  defined  the  concep- 
tion, outlined  it,  as  erased  the  outlines  that  our  too 
eager  thoughts  had  given  it,  and  so  guarded  our- 
selves against  its  perversion.  Yet  is  not  this  great 
area  of  the  infinite  empty.  It  is  an  overflowing 
centre  rather  than  a  visible  circumference.  It  con- 
tains all  we  see  and  know  and  vaguely  catch  at,  as 
the  heavens  hold  suns  and  planets  in  ample  depths 
with  no  limits  and  no  plethora.  Seeing  something 
of  that  little  orb  of  life  in  which  we  play  a  part,  we 
have  yet  vision  enough  left  to  look  out  into  the  in- 
finite spaces  of  being  about  us,  to  contrast  the  finite 
reason  with  the  Supreme  Reason  which  envelops 
it  everywhere.  As  we  see  reason  traveling  down- 
ward to  reach  and  include  the  lowest  physical  rela- 
tions, so  also,  moving  upward  in  thought  along 
these  same  connections,  we  meet  with  the  condi- 
tions of  consciousness,  then  with  consciousness, 
then  with  an  enlarging  intellectual  experience  in 
the  world,  then  with  a  rational  comprehension  of 
that  experience,  then  with  a  spiritual  kingdom, 
enclosing  all,  and  so  pass  onward  by  every  grade 
of  intelligence  to  the  Supreme  Reason,  the  Source 


UNITY. 


291 


of  All.  The  physical  creation  thus  contains  and 
reflects  the  spiritual  world,  till  in  man  the  response 
between  them  becomes  complete,  and,  like  the 
images  multiplied  between  two  opposed  mirrors,  he 
is  taken  into  the  heart  of  both.  Not  only  does  the 
light  greet  everything  in  the  world,  every  coarsest 
thing  in  the  world  selects  from  it  a  color,  and  so 
marshals  itself  in  its  festive  troop.  Each  thing 
under  the  higher  play  of  Reason  has  a  reason  of  its 
own,  and  so  stands  up  together  with  the  works  of 
God. 


L  I  IJ  K  A  U  \ 

UNI  V  KKSITV   OK 

CALIKOifNI  A. 


The  End. 


INDEX. 


Agriculture  of  Mass,  69,  70,  71. 

Amphioxus,  99,  194. 

Anthropomorphism,  58. 

Ants,  154,  162,  170. 

Aphasia,  112. 

Articulata,  99. 

Assimilations,  64. 

Associative  Life,  178  ;  consciousness,  its  condition,  178 ;  first  terms, 
180;  sensibilities,  18  r  ;  memory,  183;  rise  of  consciousness, 
184;  consciousness  and  senses,  i86;  and  memory,  188  j  and 
affections,  190;  Vertebrata,  199;  pain,  192;  form  of  asso- 
ciative life,  193;  terms  of,  194-198;  examples  of,  199-203; 
impulses  of,  204 ;  contrast  with  rational  life,  205 ;  as  seen  in 
animals,  206;  training,  207;  instincts,  209;  language,  211- 
218;  instances  of  sagacity,  218-225;  relation  to  rational  life, 
246. 

B. 

Bees,  157,  161-170;  memory,  190. 

Brain,  connection  with  mind,  28 ;  size  in  man,  100 ;  relative  size, 
1 01 ;  relation  of  gray  and  white  matter,  103 ;  convolutions, 
104;  offices  of  cerebrum,  105;  division  of  functions,  108-114; 
general  conclusions,  116. 

C. 

Carpenter,  Dr.    Mind  and  matter,  23^27  ;  nervous  system,   98  • 

stimuli,  144. 
Cephalization,  95. 

«93 


294  INDEX. 

Cerebration,  unconscious,  23-30 ;  difficulties,  31. 

Circulation  in  trees,  67  ;  forms,  68  ;  forces,  69  ;  experiments,  70. 

Consciousness,  its  extent,  20 ;  views  of   Hamilton,    22  ;    of  Dr. 

Carpenter,   23-27 ;   relations,   37 ;  antecedent  conditions,  39 ; 

introduction,  135-140;  relation  to  associative  life  178;  when 

arises,  184. 

D. 

Darwin,  Mr.,  pangenesis,  53 ;  insectivorous  plants,  76-78  ;  climbing 

plants,  79-S5 ;  instinct,  152;  ants,  168  J  dogs,  173;    sagacity, 

224. 
Development,  differences  to  be  taken  as  real,  34 ;  spaces,  37 ;  in 

man,   249 ;   in  animal  kingdom,  260 ;    increments,    261  ;    in 

society,  263. 

F. 

Ferrier,  Ds.,  Functions  of  the  Brain,  107-114,  191. 

Foster,  D.,  123. 

Forces,  their  nature,  14-16 ;  relation  to  mind,  17  ;  to  vital  force, 
36;  mechanical  and  molecular  forces,  40;  characteristics,  41  j 
crystalline  forces,  44  ;  vital  forces,  45  ;  constructive  terms,  59  ; 
relations  to  God,  60,  275. 


Galton,  F.,  heredity,  257. 
Genius  and  inheritance,  258. 
Gemmules,  55. 
Germs,  50. 


H. 


Hamerton,  G.    Chapters  on  Animals,  166,  208,  218,  221. 

Hamilton,  Sir  W.     Mind  and  matter,  22. 

Hammond,  Dr.,  loi,  103. 

Henderson,  Dr.,  250. 

Heredity,  plants,  87,  in  man,  257. 


I. 


Increments,  88,  248,  261. 
Infinite,  nature,  59,  266. 


INDEX.  295 

Inheritance,  251;  and  intuitions,  253;  laws,  255;  intellectual 
powers,  257  ;  moral  quality,  260. 

Inquiries  in  philosophy,  dangers,  3 ;  conditions,  6. 

Insanity,  28. 

Instinct,  its  nature,  147 ;  relation  to  intuitions,  245 ;  to  inherit- 
ance, 254. 

Instinctive  life,  147  ;  nature,  148-151 ;  facts,  152  ;  not  referable  to 
reason,  154;  relation  to  organic  life,  156-160;  to  intelligence, 
160;  ants  and  bees,  161-165  ;  their  instincts,  165-170;  instinct 
and  evolution,  170;  and  intelligence,  171;  and  habit,  172. 

Intelligence,  its  limits,  21  ;  finite  intelligence,  269-271. 

Intuitions,  relation  to  instinct,  171-177,  245  ;  to  inheritance,  251. 


K. 


Kirby  and  Spence,  instinct,  151,   155,  159,  163,  165,  169;  memory 
of  bees,  190  ;  sagacity  of  wasp,  224. 


Language,  relation  to  animal  life,  211 ;  to  rational  life,  238;  ab- 
stract character,  239;  natural  signs,  241. 

Lewes,  G.  H.    Consciousness,  20  ;  instinct,  150,  174. 

Life,  nature,  39,  47,  49,  57,  62,  72>  74-  See  vegetable,  organic,  in- 
stinctive, associative  and  rational  life. 

Lubbock,  Sir  John.     Ants,  154,  162,  168. 


M. 


Mansel,  Mr.,  273. 

Martineau,  J.,  275. 

Memory  and  associative  life,  183. 

Metaphysics,  dislike,  i ;  aided  by  physical  inquiry,  2  ;  dangers,  3 ; 
true  method,  6. 

Mind,  relation  to  matter,  9;  primitive  facts,  10  j  what  they  in- 
volve, 13,  14. 

Mollusca,  nervous  system,  96. 

Murphy,  J.  J.    Habit  and  Intelligence,  21 ;  crystals,  44. 


296  INDEX. 

N. 

Natural  and  supernatural,  286. 

Nervous  system,  89 ;  offices,  89-gi  ;  forms,  92  ;  Radiata,  93 ;  Ar- 
ticulata,  94 ;  Mollusca,  96 ;  Vertebrata,  98  ;  brain  in  man, 
100 ;  relation  of  nervous  system  to  organic  life,  1 18-122. 


Organic  life,  118;  nervous  system,  1 18-122;  automatic  action, 
122;  simplest  forms,  123;  includes,  124;  mobility,  125;  en- 
largement in  animals,  128;  eating,  129;  circulation,  131; 
breathing,  132  ;  special  senses,  134;  consciousness,  135-140; 
priority  of  organic  life,  141  ;  skill,  142-144 ;  automatic,  145 ; 
relation  to  rational  life,  243. 


Pangenesis,  53. 

Philosophy,  Positive,  12. 

Phrenology,  115. 

Plants,  insectivorous,  76,  78 ;  climbing,  79-S5. 

Power,  plastic,  49,  57 


R. 


Radiata,  nervous  system,  93. 

Rational  life,  227 ;  nature,  228 ;  relation  to  space,  229 ;  to  time, 
233;  to  -causes,  234;  to  intuitions  in  morals  and  religion,  236; 
contrasted  with  animal  life,  236 ;  supremacy  of  relations,  237  ; 
of  language,  238. 

Reason,  the  Supreme  Reason,  265 ;  relation  to  reason,  266 ;  to 
power,  267;  to  knowledge,  267 ;  to  finite  intelligence,  269; 
difficulties,  273;  relation  to  a  brain,  274;  to  matter,  275  ;  ob- 
jections of  science,  278 ;  of  theology,  282 ;  relation  to  rea- 
son, 285;  to  nature,  285;  hemogeneity,  288;  God  and  the 
Universe,  290. 

S. 
Sachs'  Text-book  of  Botany,  62,  69. 


INDEX.  297 

Sagacity,  of  chimpanzee,  223  ;  of  horses,  223;  of  ossifrage,  223;  of 

insects,  224 ;  of  pigeons,  225. 
Senses,  134 ;  sense  of  direction,  222- 
Skill,  142. 

Spalding,  D.  A.,  149,  209. 
Spiders,  156. 

T. 

Taine,  M.     Mind  and  matter,  18,  178. 

V. 

Vegetable  life,  62;  activity  of  leaf,  63;  assimilation,  64 ;  chloro- 
phyl,  65 ;  metastasis,  66 ;  circulation,  67  ;  forces,  68 ;  examples, 
70 ;  plastic  power,  73 ;  discrimination,  74 ;  insectivorous  plants, 
76-78 ;  climbing  plants,  78-85  ;  transmission,  86. 

Vertebrata,  nervous  system,  98. 


Wallace,  A.  R.,  221.  » 

Wilder,  Prof.  B.  G.,  102,  105,  107. 
Will,  relation  to  Supreme  Reason,  279. 


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